“It’s—it’s—” Leonore hesitated. “It’s not so startling, after a moment.”
“You see they had to hang this way, or go unhung. I hadn’t wall space for both pictures and books. And by giving a few frames a turn, occasionally, I can always have fresh pictures to look at.”
“Look here, Dot, here’s a genuine Rembrandt’s ‘Three Crosses,’” called Watts. “I didn’t know, old man, that you were such a connoisseur.”
“I’m not,” said Peter. “I’m fond of such things, but I never should have had taste or time to gather these.”
“Then how did you get them?”
“A friend of mine—a man of exquisite taste—gathered them. He lost his money, and I bought them of him.”
“That was Mr. Le Grand?” asked Leonore, ceasing her study of the “Three Crosses.”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Rivington told me about it.”
“It must have been devilish hard for him to part with such a collection,” said Watts.