_The Uncle._ Now, TOMMY, you remember what became of KATHERINE of
Aragon, I'm sure? No, no--tut--tut--_she_ wasn't executed! I'm afraid
you're getting rather rusty with these long holidays. Remind me to speak
to your mother about setting you a chapter or so of history to read
every day when we get home, will you?
_Tommy (to himself)._ It _is_ hard lines on a chap having a Sneak for an
Uncle! Catch me swotting to please _him_!
_'Arry._ There's old 'ENERY THE EIGHTH, you see--that's 'im right
enough; him as 'ad all those wives, and cut every one of their 'eds off!
_'Arriet (admiringly)._ Ah, I knew we shouldn't want a Catalogue.
_The Int. P._ Wonderfully HOLBEIN'S caught the character of the
man--the--er--curious compound of obstinacy, violence, and good-humour,
sensuality, and--and so on. No mistaking a HOLBEIN--you can tell him at
once by the extraordinary finish of all the accessories. Now look at
that girdle--isn't that HOLBEIN all over?
_Flippant P._ Not quite all over, old fellow. Catalogue says it's
painted by PARIS BORDONE.
_The Int. P._ Possibly--but it's HOLBEIN'S _manner_, and, looking at
these portraits, you see at once how right FROUDE'S estimate was of the
King.
_F. P._ Does FROUDE say how he got that nasty one on the side of his
nose?
_A Visitor._ Looks overfed, don't he?
_Second V. (sympathetically)._ Oh, he did himself very well; you can see
that.
_The Aunt._ Wait a bit, JOHN--don't read so fast. I haven't made out the
middle background yet. And where's the figure of St. Michael rising
above the gilt tent, lined with _fleurs-de-lis_ on a blue ground? Would
this be GUISNES, or ARDRES, now? Oh, ARDRES on the right--so _that's_
ARDRES--yes, yes; and now tell me what it says about the two gold
fountains, and that dragon up in the sky.
[JOHN _calculates that, at this rate, he has a very poor chance of
getting away before the Gallery closes_.
_The Patronising Persons._ 'Um! HOLBEIN again, you see--very curious
their ideas of painting in those days. Ah, well, Art has made great
progress since then--like everything else!
_Miss Fisher._ So _that's_ the beautiful QUEEN MARY! I wonder if it is
really _true_ that people have got better-looking since those days?
[_Glances appealingly at Phlegmatic Fiance._
_Her Phlegmatic Fiance._ I wonder.
_Miss F._ You hardly ever see such small hands now, do you? With those
lovely long fingers, too!
_The Phl. F._ No, never.
_Miss F._ Perhaps people in some other century will wonder how anybody
ever saw anything to admire in _us_?
_The Phl. F._ Shouldn't be surprised.
[Miss F. _does wish secretly that_ CHARLES _had more conversation_
_The Aunt._ JOHN, just find out who No. 222 is.
_John. (sulkily)._ Sir GEORGE PENRUDDOCKE, Knight.
_His Aunt (with enthusiasm)._ Of course--_how_ interesting this is,
isn't it?--seeing all these celebrated persons exactly as they were in
life! Now read who he _was_, JOHN, please.
_The Int. Person._ FROUDE tells a curious incident about----
_Flippant P._ I tell you what it is, old chap, if you read so much
history, you'll end by _believing_ it!
_The Int. P. (pausing before the Shakspeare portraits.)_ "He was not for
an age, but for all time."
_The Fl. P._ I suppose that's why they've painted none of them alike.
_A Person with a talent for Comparison._ MARY, come here a moment. Do
look at this--"ELIZABETH, Lady HOBY"--did you _ever_ see such a
likeness?
_Mary._ Well, dear, I don't quite----
_The Person with &c._ It's her living image! Do you mean to say you
really don't recognise it?--Why, _Cook_, of course!
_Mary._ Ah! (_apologetically_)--but I've never seen her dressed to _go
out_, you know.
_The Uncle._ "No. 13, Sir ROWLAND HILL, Lord Mayor, died 1561"----
_Tommy (anxious to escape the threatened chapters if possible)._ I know
about _him_, Uncle, he invented postage stamps!