“Of course not. There’s ‘Rembrandt’ on the frame, but I saw you’d modified it to ‘Dutch School‘; I apologize.” He paused, but I offered no explanation. “What about it?” he went on. “Where did you pick it up?” As he leaned to the flame of the cigar-lighter his face seemed ruddy with enjoyment.
“I got it for a song,” I said.
“A thousand, I think?”
“Have you seen it?” I asked abruptly.
“Went over the place this afternoon and found it in the cellar. Why hasn’t it been hung, by the way?”
I paused a moment. “I’m waiting—“
“To—?”
“To have it varnished.”
“Ah!” He leaned back and poured himself a second glass of Chartreuse. The smile he confided to its golden depths provoked me to challenge him with—
“What do you think of it?”