fluenced by the letter which
she had in her pocket, and almost said "the late Martin Joliffe,
Esquire"--"thought very highly of it, and used to sit here for hours in
his last illness studying it. I hope you will not ask me to move the
picture. You may not be aware, perhaps, that, besides being painted by
my mother, it is in itself a very valuable work of art."

There was a suggestion, however faint, in her words, of condescension
for her lodger's bad taste, and a desire to enlighten his ignorance
which nettled Westray; and he contrived in his turn to throw a tone of
superciliousness into his reply.

"Oh, of course, if you wish it to remain from sentimental reasons, I
have nothing more to say, and I must not criticise your mother's work;
but--" And he broke off, seeing that the old lady took the matter so
much to heart, and being sorry that he had been ruffled at a trifle.

Miss Joliffe gulped down her chagrin. It was the first time she had
heard the picture openly disparaged, though she had thought that on more
than one occasion it had not been appreciated so much as it deserved.
But she carried a guarantee of its value in her pocket, and could afford
to be magnanimous.

"It has always been considered very valuable," she went on, "though I
daresay I do not myself understand all its beauties, because I have not
been sufficiently trained in art. But I am quite sure that it could be
sold for a great deal of money, if I could only bring myself to part
with it."

Westray was irritated by the hint that he knew little of art, and his
sympathy for his landlady in her family attachment to the picture was
much discounted by what he knew must be wilful exaggeration as to its
selling value.

Miss Joliffe read his thoughts, and took a piece of paper from her
pocket.

"I have here," she said, "an offer of fifty pounds for the picture from
some gentlemen in London. Please read it, that you may see it is not I
who am mistaken."

She held him out the dealers' letter, and Westray took it to humour her.
He read it carefully, and wondered more and more as he went on. What
could be the explanation? Could the offer refer to some other picture?
for he knew Baunton and Lutterworth as being most reputable among London
picture-dealers; and the idea of the letter being a hoax was precluded
by the headed paper and general style of the communication. He glanced
at the picture. The sunlight was still on it, and it stood out more