"It's called 'Mona Lisa,' and it's by an artist by the name
of Leonardo da Vinci. Bramley said it was a very fine painting, but I
don't remember just now whether he said it was what you might call a
picture for the family or not. I'll just go and ascertain," said the
Senator. "Judging from some of the specimens here, oil paintings in the
Middle Ages weren't intended to be chromo-lithographed."
In his absence momma and I discussed French cookery as far as we had
experienced it, in detail, with prodigious yawns for which we did not
even apologise. Poppa was gone a remarkably short time and came back
radiant. "I've found Mona," he exclaimed, "and--she's all right. Bramley
said it was the most remarkable portrait of a woman in the
world--looking at it, Bramley said, you become insensible to
everything--forget all about your past life and future hopes--and I
guess he's about right. Come and see it."
Momma arose without enthusiasm, and I thought I detected adverse
criticism in advance in her expression.
"Here she is," said the Senator presently. "Now look at that! Did you
ever see anything more intellectual and cynical, and contemptuous and
sweet, all in one! Lookin' at you as much as to say, 'Who are you,
anyhow, from way back in the State of Illinois--commercial traveller?
And what do you pretend to know?'"
Momma regarded the portrait for a moment in calm disapprobation.
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