So he obligingly assumed a startled look, with which he endeavored to mingle simulations of surprise, awe, and envy.
The next instant an expression of real surprise overspread his features.
Mr.Faust continued.

"If you will come upstairs," he said to the picture-dealer, "I will give you your check; and then I should like to drive to your apartments and take a farewell look at the picture." "I am sorry," the Baron said, "but I have had it moved to my art gallery to be packed." "Then let's go to the gallery," urged the patron of art.

"We've just time before lunch." He rose to his feet, and on the instant the soul of the picture-dealer was filled with alarm.
In actual words he said: "The picture is already boxed and in its lead coffin.

No doubt by now it is on its way to Liverpool.

I am sorry." But his thoughts, as Philip easily read them, were: "Fancy my letting this vulgar fool into the Tate Street workshop! Even HE would know that old masters are not found in a half-finished state on Chelsea-made frames and canvases.