There is a room upstairs where they can be stored--most carefully--and anybody who is interested in them can go and look at them.

If they had only been left as they were painted!--not by Lely, of course, but by some drapery man in his studio--_passe encore_! they might have been just bearable.
But you see some wretched restorer went and daubed them all over a few years ago." "We went to the best man we could find! 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." Daphne pointed to the stranger, who was leaning against an arm-chair beside her in an embarrassed attitude, as though he were endeavouring to make the chair a buffer between himself and Lady Barnes.
Dr.Lelius bowed.
"It is a modern art," he said with diffidence, and an accent creditably slight--"a quite modern art.