"It remains to be proved that it _is_ a Mantovano."

"Well," said Lord John, "go into it."

"Hanged if I won't!" his friend broke out after a moment. "It _would_
suit me. I mean"--the explanation came after a brief intensity of
thought--"the possible size of his cheque would."

"Oh," said Lord John gaily, "I guess there's no limit to the possible
size of his cheque!"

"Yes, it would suit me, it would suit me!" the elder man, standing
there, audibly mused. But his air changed and a lighter question came
up to him as he saw his daughter reappear at the door from the terrace.
"Well, the infant horde?" he immediately put to her.

Lady Grace came in, dutifully accounting for them. "They've marched
off--in a huge procession."

"Thank goodness! And our friends?"

"All playing tennis," she said--"save those who are sitting it out." To
which she added, as to explain her return: "Mr. Crimble has gone?"

Lord John took upon him to say. "He's in the library, to which you
addressed him--making discoveries."

"Not then, I hope," she smiled, "to our disadvantage!"

"To your very great honour and glory." Lord John clearly valued the
effect he might produce.

"Your Moretto of Brescia--do you know what it really and spendidly
is?" And then as the girl, in her surprise, but wondered: "A Mantovano,
neither more nor less. Ever so much more swagger."

"A Mantovano?" Lady Grace echoed. "Why, how tremendously jolly!"

Her father was struck. "Do you know the artist--of whom I had never
heard?"

"Yes, something of the little that _is_ known." And she rejoiced as her
knowledge came to her. "He's a tremendous swell, because, great as he
was, there are but seven proved examples----"

"With this of yours," Lord John broke in, "there are eight."

"Then why haven't I known about him?" Lord Theign put it as if so many
other people were guilty for this.

His daughter was the first to plead for the vague body. "Why, I suppose
in order that you should have exactly this pleasure, father."

"Oh, pleasures not desired are like acquaintances not sought--they
rather bore one!" Lord Theign sighed. With which he moved away from her.

Her eyes followed him an instant--then she smiled at their guest. "Is he
bored at having the higher prize--if you're sure it _is_ the higher?"

"Mr. Crimble is sure--because if he isn't," Lord John added, "he's a
wretch."

"Well," she returned, "as he's certainly not a wretch it must be true.
And fancy,"