"No," Ricky returned firmly. "This cloth matches the ducks."
"Oh, yes, the ducks," Charity eyed them. "So you consider that the ducks are the note you wish to emphasize?"
"Certainly." Ricky surveyed the picture hanging opposite her. "I consider them unique. Not everyone can have ducks in the dining-room nowadays."
"For which they should be eternally thankful," observed Rupert. "They are rather gaudy, aren't they?"
"Oh, but I like the expression in this one's glassy eye," Ricky pointed out. "You might call this study 'Gone But Not Forgotten.'"
"Corn-bread, please," Val asked, thus attempting to put an end to the art-appreciation class.
"I think," continued Ricky, undisturbed as she passed him the plate heaped with golden squares, "that they are slightly surrealist. They distinctly resemble the sort of things one is often pursued by in one's brighter nightmares."
"Do you have any really good pictures?" asked Charity, resolutely averting her gaze from the ducks.
"Three, but they've been loaned to the museum," answered Rupert. "Not by well-known painters, but they're historically interesting. There's one of the first Lady Richanda, and one of the missing Rick. That's the best of the lot, according to LeFleur. I saw a photograph of it once. Come to think about it, Val looks a lot like the boy in the picture. He might have sat for it."
They all turned to eye Val. He arose and bowed. "I find these compliments too overwhelming," he murmured.