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Updated: June 4, 2025
Then, at a pause, she lifted a careless hand, inquiring whether "the Fragonard sketch" opposite were not the pendant of one she named it at Berlin. "Ah-h-h!" said Mrs. Fairmile, with a smiling shake of the head, "how clever of you! But that's not a Fragonard. I wish it were. It's an unknown. Dr. Lelius has given him a name."
We took the best advice!" cried Lady Barnes, sitting stiff and crimson in a deep arm-chair, opposite the luckless row of portraits that Daphne was denouncing. "I'm sure you did. But then, you see, nobody knew anything at all about it in those days. The restorers were all murderers. Ask Dr. Lelius."
An American heiress, half Spanish South-American Spanish with no doubt a dash of Indian; no manners, as Europe understands them; unlimited money, and absurd pretensions so Chloe said in the matter of art; a mixture of the pedant and the parvenue; where on earth had young Barnes picked her up! It was in some such way, no doubt so Lelius guessed that the Duchess's thoughts were running.
When I hear Lelius yarning on about quattro-cento and cinque-cento, I could drown myself. No! I suppose you're tarred with the same brush." Roger shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I don't care, so long as Daphne gets what she wants, and the place suits the child." His ruddy countenance took a shade of anxiety.
They found the old Duchess, Mrs. Fairmile, and Dr. Lelius, alone.
Barnes, I have heard a great deal of you though you mayn't know anything about me. Ah! Dr. Lelius?" The German, bowing awkwardly, yet radiant, came forward to take the hand extended to him. "They did nothing but talk about you at the Louvre, when I was there last week," she said, with a little confidential nod. "You have made them horribly uncomfortable about some of their things.
Laura Barnes hesitated, and in the pause two persons appeared upon the garden path outside, coming towards the open windows of the drawing-room. One was Mrs. Roger Barnes; the other was a man, remarkably tall and slender, with a stoop like that of an overgrown schoolboy, silky dark hair and moustache, and pale gray eyes. "Dr. Lelius!" said Elsie, in astonishment. "Was Daphne expecting him?"
Then the fair-skinned English face, confronting Daphne, wavered and weakened, and Roger smiled into the eyes transfixing him. "Ah!" thought Lelius, "she has him, de poor fool!" Roger, coming over to his mother, began a murmured conversation. Daphne, still breathing quick, consented to talk to Dr. Lelius and Mrs. French.
The speaker, who was just passing through the door, turned towards Roger, who with Lelius, was escorting her, with a last gesture gay, yet, like all her gestures, charged with a slight yet deliberate significance. They disappeared. Daphne walked to the window, biting her lip.
"Who is Dr. Lelius?" asked Lady Barnes, putting up her eyeglass. Mrs. French explained that he was a South German art-critic, from Würzburg, with a great reputation. She had already met him at Eton and at Oxford. "Another expert!" said Lady Barnes with a shrug. The pair passed the window, absorbed apparently in conversation. Mrs. French escaped. Lady Barnes was left to discontent and solitude.
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