In wet weather the ladies of the house used it as a promenade. It was
filled with art-treasures of all kinds, the accumulation of many
generations. From between the crimson velvet hangings white marble
statues gleamed, copies of the world's great masterpieces; there were
also more modern works of art. The floor was of the most exquisite
parquetry; the seats and lounges were soft and luxurious; in the great
windows east and west there stood a small fountain, and the ripple of
the water sounded like music in the quietude of the gallery. One
portion of it was devoted entirely to family portraits. They were a
wonderful collection perhaps one of the most characteristic in England.
Lord Arleigh and his young wife walked through the gallery.
"I thought the gallery at Verdun Royal the finest in the world," she
said; "it is nothing compared to this."
"And this," he returned, "is small, compared with the great European
galleries."
"They belong to nations; this belongs to an individual," she
said--"there is a difference."
Holding her hand in his, he led her to the long line of fair-faced
women. As she stood, the light from the setting sun falling on her fair
face and golden hair, he said to himself that he had no picture in his
gallery one-half so exquisite.
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