“What do you think of this?” said Soames, pointing to the Gauguin.
Monsieur Profond protruded his lower lip and short pointed beard.
“Rather fine, I think,” he said; “do you want to sell it?”
Soames checked his instinctive “Not particularly”—he would not chaffer with this alien.
“Yes,” he said.
“What do you want for it?”
“What I gave.”
“All right,” said Monsieur Profond. “I'll be glad to take that small picture. Post-Impressionists—they're awful dead, but they're amusin'. I don' care for pictures much, but I've got some, just a small lot.”
“What do you care for?”
Monsieur Profond shrugged his shoulders.