June maintained the charge. “The picture’s mine. William gave it me. You’ve broken open my box and stolen it.”
S. Gedge Antiques, after a mild side glance in the direction of William, proceeded to fix a glacial eye upon his niece. “What I have to say is this.” His tone was more magisterial than ever. “At present, my girl, you are under age, and as long as you live with me the law regards me as your guardian. And, as I have told William already, in my opinion you are not a fit and proper person to have the care of a thing so valuable as this picture may prove to be. Mind you,”—the old fox gave William a meaningful look—“I don’t go so far as to say that it is valuable, but I say that it might be. And, in that case, I can’t allow a mere ignorant girl from the country who, in a manner of speaking, doesn’t know the letter A from a pig’s foot to accept it from you, my boy. It’s very generous of you, and I hope she’s thanked you properly, but if I allow her to take it, some unscrupulous dealer is sure to bamboozle her out of it. That’s assuming it’s valuable, which, of course, I don’t go so far as to say that it is.”
“Thief!” stormed June. “Wicked thief!”
However, she knew well enough that it was a real pity to let her feelings get the better of her; it enabled the Old Crocodile to shine so much by comparison. He addressed himself to William in his most sanctimonious manner. For the good of all concerned, such a bee-yew-ti-ful thing—it sickened June to see the old humbug lift his eyes to heaven—must be cared for by him personally. An uneducated mawkin could not hope to appreciate a work of art of that quality, and if anything happened to it, as in such hands something inevitably must, William’s master would never be able to forgive himself, he wouldn’t really!
The old man spoke so gently and so plausibly and hovered at times so near to tears, that William would have been less than human not to have been moved by his words. Uncle Si had not the least difficulty in making clear to his assistant that he was swayed by the highest motives. His own private regard for the picture, which, of course, William must know was intense, did not enter into the case at all; but wisdom and experience declared that until Monsieur Duponnet of Paris had seen the picture it must remain in responsible hands.
“But I tell you the picture’s mine, mine, mine!” cried June.
No, the picture was William’s. That outstanding fact was emphasized again in his master’s kindly voice. Was he not William’s guardian also in the eyes of the law? Not for a moment could he think of allowing the young man in a fit of weak generosity to give away a thing that might prove to be a real work of art.
June was a little disappointed by William’s attitude in the matter. The way in which he submitted to Uncle Si did him no credit. Surely the picture was his to do with as he chose; yet to judge by Uncle Si’s handling of the affair the young man had no right to dispose of it. June deplored this lack of spirit. He should have fought for his own. At the same time, her mind was tormented by the unpleasant thought that he really wanted to revoke his gift.
The more she considered the position, the less she liked it. She could not rid herself of a feeling that she was playing an unworthy part. It was all very well to regard her actions as strictly in William’s interest. But were they? She was haunted by a sense of having descended perilously near to the level of Uncle Si himself.
Anyhow, she had tried her best to outwit S. Gedge Antiques. And he had outwitted her. There was no disguising it. Both were playing the same game, the same crooked game, and it seemed that Uncle Si, as was only to be expected, was able to play it much better than could she. The artful old fox had bested her with her own weapons. Were they not equally unscrupulous? Was not William the toy of both?