ful
oscillatory movement of the evening.

"Four-hundred-pounds, of English money; not a farthing less. I don't
regret it. It's not common English--it's genuine modern Italian!"

Soames raised the corner of his lip in a smile, and looked across at
Bosinney. The architect was grinning behind the fumes of his cigarette.
Now, indeed, he looked more like a buccaneer.

"There's a lot of work about it," remarked James hastily, who was really
moved by the size of the group. "It'd sell well at Jobson's."

"The poor foreign dey-vil that made it," went on Swithin, "asked me five
hundred--I gave him four. It's worth eight. Looked half-starved, poor
dey-vil!"

"Ah!" chimed in Nicholas suddenly, "poor, seedy-lookin' chaps, these
artists; it's a wonder to me how they live. Now, there's young
Flageoletti, that Fanny and the girls are always hav'in' in, to play the
fiddle; if he makes a hundred a year it's as much as ever he does!"

James shook his head. "Ah!" he said, "I don't know how they live!"

Old Jolyon had risen, and, cigar in mouth, went to inspect the group at
close quarters.

"Wouldn't have given two for it!" he pronounced at last.

Soames saw his father and Nicholas glance at each other anxiously; and,
on the other side of Swithin, Bosinney, still shrouded in smoke.

'I wonder what he thinks of it?' thought Soames, who knew well enough
that this group was hopelessly vieux jeu; hopelessly of the last
generation. There was no longer any sale at Jobson's for such works of
art.

Swithin's answer came at last. "You never knew anything about a statue.
You've got your pictures, and that's all!"

Old Jolyon walked back to his seat, puffing his cigar. It was not likely
that he was going to be drawn into an argument with an obstinate beggar
like Swithin, pig-headed as a mule, who had never known a statue from
a---straw hat.

"Stucco!" was all he said.

It had long been physically impossible for Swithin to start; his fist
came down on the table.

"Stucco! I should like to see anything you've got in your house half as
good!"

And behind his speech seemed to sound again that rumbling violence of
primitive generations.

It was James who saved the situation.

"Now, what do you say, Mr. Bosinney? You're an architect; you ought to
know all about statues and things!"

Every eye was turned upon Bosinney; all waited with a strange, suspicious
look for his answer.

And Soames, speaking for the first time,