Supposing the light in the attic, or Lucia herself, had beguiled him into making a false judgement and seeing the pictures in a different perspective from what was the truth?
Perhaps after all they were just rubbish, the daubs of a man who could not portray adequately the architecture of Venice and therefore has resorted to painting light, rather than what was tangible.
Then, as Mr. Johnson lifted the first picture from its cover, the Marquis knew that his instinct had not failed him.
The pictures were fantastic!
There was no other word for them, and while he was still aware that few people would agree with him, he had by a stroke of unexpected luck discovered a new star in the world of art.
It was only when he had decided exactly where each picture should hang and which of those that
