“I could not bear to lose it, and perhaps it is childish of me to keep it with me instead of in some deep bank vault, but it belonged to my mother, and I like to have it near me to look at when I become discouraged.”
The girls were still spellbound, while Mrs. Landry assured him that it was the natural thing to do and hoped it would be quite safe in his affectionate keeping.
“I have hidden it well, I hope, and I need not tell you why I have trusted you all.”
There was something so pathetically frank about the artist’s proud display of his treasure that even the girls, who had joked and speculated upon the mysterious man, were now profoundly impressed.
“We will never violate your confidence.” Mrs. Landry spoke for the group, but even that polite assurance seemed unnecessary.
Somehow the artist knew he could trust them; and he had!
“And now, will you try some tea, Russian style?”
The girls agreed all at once and wanted to help, but he waved them aside and served them quite as though he were accustomed to having four guests every day in the week on this wobbly old houseboat.
They sat, sipping from glasses the clear amber liquid though Dimitri, as a concession to their American tastes, offered them cream as well as sliced lemon. He sweetened his own clear tea liberally.
The houseboat, for all the masculine untidiness, was a bright pleasant place, and the little party chatted like old friends until Mrs. Landry announced they must go.