The whole _quartier_ in which they now are, presents a dilapidated
front. But when they enter the old, mouldy apartment, lit up with so
much of the beautiful, they forgot the gloomy, damp street; the
uninviting exterior of the building; the weird old man in charge;
everything but the gems by which they are surrounded. Here were some
rare bits of Sevres and Dresden china, there some modern tile
painting, here some old Roman jugs, jars, and vases; there the sweet
face of a Madonna looks down, as if in pity, on a Greek dancing girl.
Here a goblet, fit for a kingly gift; there a zone to win the good
graces of some pretty little ballet dancer. Here were Romish missals
in rare old inlaid coverings, side by side with garters studded with
precious stones, destined for the leg of woman.
Vaura, an ardent admirer of the choice in bric-a-brac, was in her
element amid this confusion of beauty, while her companion preferred
the living charms of a lovely woman more than anything the world of
art could show; so, not a purchaser, he seated himself on a chair with
more carving than comfort to recommend it, and watching Vaura, fell
into a reverie: "She is the most priceless gem in the casket, and
though my governor left me as heritage the waste acres, and nothing
but an income of debts to keep up Castletruan, unless I marry money,
by my faith a fellow could live on love with Vaura Vernon, better than
on stalled ox without her.
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