As soon as Burton was engrossed in writing he turned to the window, and himself lifted the picture from it. The price ticket he rapidly transferred to his pocket, before Burton looked round. He had signed the cheque and pushed it over to Jim's side of the counter. He stretched out his hand and took the painting.
"Turn on the light.... Let's see how it looks by electric."
The light was flashed on, and the beautiful soft crimson tones of the sky, the fallen brilliance on the snow, lost nothing by it.
Strong, masterly, complete, it satisfied the eye of the judge, as he scanned it rapidly and keenly.
"She'll go far, very far, if some damned love business doesn't cripple her," he muttered to himself, and then aloud to Jim:
"Tell her to paint me a pendant to this—anything she likes, and I'll give her another five hundred pounds, but not more, mind! Gad, I do like her cheek!"
"Shall I send this, sir?" asked Jim: he felt himself turning green with fear lest anything should happen before he could get Burton and the picture safely off his premises, the cheque left behind.
"No, no! Put it in the motor, I'll take it with me. You can send me up the lady herself, if you like! With the pendant, you know!" And chuckling at his own joke he went out to his waiting motor, followed by Jim, grasping the picture with hands that were damp and cold with anxiety. The motor started, and he went back to his shop.
"Well, talk of luck!!!"