'We agreed for one hundred, sir,' I said pushing five pounds across the table.
'Guineas,' he said brusquely. 'Always guineas in art. Don't know why, but always is. Oblige me, ma'am, by carrying these downstairs.'
My landlady took the pictures in her arms.
They were defended from each other by strips of thin cork at the corners, and they made a clumsy bundle. I had not looked at my client's card until now. Whilst he gave his directions to the landlady I took it up, and learned that his name was John Gregory; and that he lived in Westbourne Terrace. When my landlady had gone, he spoke to me, with another glance round the room.
'Been hard up?' he asked.
'I have been totally without money,' I answered him frankly, for I began to understand him.
'These things belong to you?' he asked again, waving his hand at the piano and the violin and the violoncello.
'Yes,' I answered.
'Why didn't you sell 'em? Better than starving.'
'I would sooner starve than part with any of them,' I told him.