CHAPTER VIII.
UNEXPECTED GENEROSITY.
But this was no time in which to give way to embarrassment. Having undertaken the expedition in search of funds, Victoria felt that she must carry it bravely through, come what would. With fingers that trembled conspicuously she untied the cord and removed the wrappings, and presently disclosed to the view of the three men four etchings of such rare merit that they exclaimed with admiration.
“Ah, artist’s proofs!” said the gentleman who had been looking at pictures. “And a signature worth having,” he added, as he glanced at the name written beneath the etching he held in his hand. “May I ask what the price of this one is?”
“I—I don’t exactly know,” faltered Victoria. “I thought they could tell me here what they are worth. You see my father bought them and—”
She stopped abruptly. She did not wish to take these strangers into her confidence, but the three men saw her black dress and imagined the rest. And yet she did not look as if she were in need of money.
“I should think they were worth twenty-five dollars apiece, should not you?” said the gentleman, turning to the clerks.
They were unwilling to mention any price, and one of them went in search of the owner of the store. Victoria could scarcely repress a little gasp of surprise. She had no idea that the pictures were worth so much, for they were small ones. If she succeeded in selling all of them in addition to the gold which she had left with the jeweller, she would go home with a large fortune in her pocket, and the unpaid bills could be settled at once.
She glanced at the young man, who appeared to be absorbed in examination of the etchings while he waited to hear their value. He was very tall and slight, with straight features, and neither beard nor moustache, which made him look younger than perhaps he really was. Victoria decided that he was nice looking, and was probably about twenty-five. He seemed to be well known at the shop, for the clerks treated him with marked attention and called him by name, but Victoria could not hear it distinctly enough to know what it was.
Again she told herself that he was very nice looking, and that he had the most charming manners she had ever seen, though perhaps she was influenced by his interest in her pictures and his evident desire to buy one. Presently the picture-dealer himself came forward and examined critically the four etchings.
“They are genuine artist’s proofs,” said he, “and I shall try to sell them myself at twenty dollars each. Probably they cost more than that, but in the present state of business they will not bring as much as they did. I will give you fifteen apiece for them and take the four.”