“Yes, he can pay it. He is very rich, and he cares for pictures. He has hundreds. He buys them everywhere--in Paris, London, St. Petersburg, Italy--It only depends on whether he likes--” The man had come into view again and was studying the picture, dipping toward it in little sidewise flights. Uncle William watched the pantomime jealously. “How’d you come to know him?” he asked. “He knew my mother. He had known her from a girl. I think he loved her,” she said quietly, her eyes on the man. “He was on the legation at St. Petersburg--See! He _does_ like them!” She had leaned forward. Uncle William glanced up. The man was standing a little removed from the painting, his arms folded, his head thrown back, oblivious to the crowd. She rose quickly. “I am going to speak to him,” she said. “Wait here for me.” She passed into the changing throng that filled the room beyond. Uncle William waited patiently, his eyes studying the swift kaleidoscope of the doorway. When she reappeared in it, her face was alight with color. “Come.” She held out her hand. “I want you to meet him. He likes them--oh, very much!” She pressed her hands together lightly. “I think he will buy them--two, at least.” Uncle William got to his feet. “I s’pose ye told him about Alan and about my place.” She stopped short, looking at him reproachfully. “Not a word,” she said--“not a single word!” Uncle William’s countenance fell. “Wa’n’t that what you went out for?” “No; and you must not mention it. I only told him that you liked them.” “Can’t I even say that’s my house out there?” He waved his hand. “Never!” It was energetic. “You would spoil it all.” “Will it hurt it any to be my house?” he asked, a little sore. “You know it is not that.” She laid her hand on his arm affectionately. “We shall tell him all about it some day; but now, just now, while he is making up his mind, it would distract him. He wants to look at them as art.” Uncle William sighed gently. “Well, I’ll do my best, but it’s goin’ agen’ nature not to bust right out with it.” They passed into the larger room. On the opposite side the man was standing, his eyeglasses on his nose, looking expectantly toward the door. When he saw them, he smiled and moved forward with suave grace. XVIII They met midway in the room. The two tall men stood facing each other, overtopping the crowd. The Frenchman held out his hand. “I am glad to meet you,” he said. Uncle William took the thin hand in his hearty one. “I am glad to meet _you_,” he responded. “Sergia’s been tellin’ me about you. She said you liked the picter over yonder.” Uncle William’s thumb described the arc of a circle. The Frenchman’s eye followed it. “I do,” he said, cordially. “Don’t you?” “Well, it’s middlin’ good.” Uncle William spoke craftily. They were moving toward it. “It’s great!” said the Frenchman. He swung his eyeglasses to his nose and gazed at it. They came to a standstill a little distance away.