Uncle Si pursed his mouth. Then he went through the rest of his performance, which on this occasion ended in a noise through closed lips like a hornet’s drone, which might have meant anything.
June felt an insane desire to give the old wretch a punch on his long and wicked nose.
“What did he think of the cloud?” asked William. “And the light of the sun striking through on to the water?”
“He says it’s very rough and dirty, and in bad condition, but if I could buy it for two pounds he might be able to show me a small profit.”
“I should think so,” murmured June, holding a glass of water in suspense.
Uncle Si laid down his knife and looked at her.
“You think so, niece,” he snarled. “Have the goodness to mind your own affairs, or you and I will quarrel. That’s twice to-day I’ve had to speak to you.”
June covered a retreat from the impossible position strong feelings had led her into by emptying her glass in one fierce draught.
“You see, boy,” said Uncle Si, turning to William with a confidential air, “this—this picture.”—It seemed a great concession on his part to allow that the thing was a picture at all—“is without a signature. That makes it almost valueless.”
William smiled and gently shook his head.