“And there are trees as well.”
“Trees, are there? A copy of the one in the National Gallery, I expect. Is there a windmill in the left hand corner?”
There was no windmill in the left hand corner, June declared with confidence. She remembered that at first William had thought there was, but had changed his opinion later.
“Then that washes out the National Gallery. I dare say it’s a copy of ‘L’Automne’ in the Louvre. By the way, how did you come by it?”
“It was given to me by a gentleman, a friend of mine,” said June, after a moment for reflection.
“A very good friend, too.” The tone of the laugh had a little too much banter to be pleasant. “Isn’t everybody, you know, who gives a Van Roon to his best girl? A bit of a plutocrat evidently.”
June didn’t know what a plutocrat was, but she was too proud to say so. She made a mental note to look up the word in the dictionary.
“How did your rich friend come by it? Do you happen to know?”
“He isn’t rich,” said June, with a wish for perfect honesty. “He found it in a shop.”
“Where was the shop?”