Emrys shot a sideways glance at her. Symbolic; what did she mean by that? He was no stranger to art with layers of meaning, but had yet to find any of it here. Certainly not in any of the lackluster pieces on the wall before them. Maybe she had more of an interest in this type of art than he did. Maybe she wasn't talking about the art at all, and this was a coded way of saying something that polite young women didn't say in ballrooms. He turned his attention to the art again with renewed interest.

A line of three portraits was before them: a young woman in yellow clutching a rose to her chest; another woman who was looking at the artist with a piercing gaze but whose features looked young, possibly childish; a discombobulated fellow holding a quill pen but no paper. Above were three scenes: a suitor holding a young woman's hand while she lounged in a garden hammock; a mother braiding flowers into a young girl's hair, also in a garden; one woman reading from a parchment while another woman lay dramatically on a bench behind her, as though she'd just been struck. So... what symbolism? Presumably she hadn't been talking about the skied works. The portraits could not be much more than what they appeared. So that left him with the suitors, the mother and daughter, or the melodramatic pair of friends. Something about gossip, perhaps, or did he only jump to the conclusion because that was weighing so heavily on his mind recently? Rumors about sweethearts, maybe, if he combined a few paintings — but what was he meant to make of the mother and child braiding hair in the center?

"Mm, yes, the Green," he agreed, glancing back at it. "Quite impressive. Have you had the opportunity to see the inside yet, Miss Zabini?"