'I couldn't tell you. I have heard she comes from South America, but,
after all, who she is is of little consequence. She is a very wealthy
woman, there's no doubt of that, and some of the best people have taken
her up. I hear she has some wonderful claret, really marvellous wine,
which must have cost a fabulous sum. Lord Argentine was telling me about
it; he was there last Sunday evening. He assures me he has never tasted
such a wine, and Argentine, as you know, is an expert. By the way, that
reminds me, she must be an oddish sort of woman, this Mrs. Beaumont.
Argentine asked her how old the wine was, and what do you think she
said? "About a thousand years, I believe." Lord Argentine thought she
was chaffing him, you know, but when he laughed she said she was
speaking quite seriously, and offered to show him the jar. Of course, he
couldn't say anything more after that; but it seems rather antiquated
for a beverage, doesn't it? Why, here we are at my rooms. Come in, won't
you?'
'Thanks, I think I will. I haven't seen the curiosity-shop for some
time.'
It was a room furnished richly, yet oddly, where every chair and
bookcase and table, and every rug and jar and ornament seemed to be a
thing apart, preserving each its own individuality.
'Anything fresh lately?' said Villiers after a while.
'No; I think not; you saw those queer jugs, didn't you? I thought so. I
don't think I have come across anything for the last few weeks.'
Austin glanced round the room from cupboard to cupboard, from shelf to
shelf, in search of some new oddity. His eyes fell at last on an old
chest, pleasantly and quaintly carved, which stood in a dark corner of
the room.
'Ah,' he said, 'I was forgetting, I have got something to show you.'
Austin unlocked the chest, drew out a thick quarto volume, laid it on
the table, and resumed the cigar he had put down.
'Did you know Arthur Meyrick the painter, Villiers?'
'A little; I met him two or three times at the house of a friend of
mine. What has become of him? I haven't heard his name mentioned for
some time.'
'He's dead.'
'You don't say so! Quite young, wasn't he?'
'Yes; only thirty when he died.'
'What did he die of?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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