"Anything in reason, you know, I am always ready to do for you," the other reassured him.
"This is easy," cried the poet, "and it is not unreasonable."
"Just tell me what it is you want," said Beaumont, "and you may depend on its being done."
"I am going to place my happiness in your hands."
"Snakes! What, a woman?"
Exerting himself once more to master his nerves, the other continued:
"Do you know the 'Madonna degli Ansidei'?:
"Never heard of the lady. Where's she on? But really this is very new—very new and unexpected!" And his face shaped itself to an appropriate but displeasing expression of masculine archness.
"The 'Madonna degli Ansidei'," the other explained with laborious precision, though within the decayed slippers his toes were curled into a knot, "is a picture, painted some years ago by one Raphael Sanzio, an Italian gentleman, and at present housed in a public building which stands (for the greater convenience of exploring Londoners) within a stone's throw of the Alhambra and Empire Theatres. Do you think———
"Right you are," responded Freddy, cheerily. "I don't know it—the picture—of course; but I suppose one of the official persons would condescend to point it out. What then?
"You will find it in the third gallery; it faces the entrance; and the name is written beneath. You can read, I think you say?"
"Oh, shut up! Well, what am I to do? Annex the thing?"
"Precisely; if you can bring it away conveniently, without attracting attention."
"My dear chap——— "
