"I don't know; there are queer depths in human nature. Unfortunately, I see no way of proving the theory either right or wrong—of putting it to the test; not, at least, until Lucy Kingdon recovers and chooses to speak."
"I think I can put it to the test," I said, "if you'll permit me to lay it before a friend. I must tell you, though, that he's a reporter, and if the theory proves to be the right one, he'll use it."
"I see no objection to that," said Dr. Schuyler, after a moment's thought; "provided, of course, that he doesn't use it unless it's fully proved."
"I can promise that," I said.
"And whether it proves right or wrong, I should like to know."
"You shall, at the first moment. And, by the way," I added, "you were speaking the other evening of Ruth Endicott. There is a rather remarkable portrait belonging to the Kingdons which has her name in the corner."
"Yes; I've seen it."
"Did she really paint it?"
"Oh, I think there's no doubt of that."
"Did she paint anything else?"