no
background."

"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.

"He hasn't really parted with them. He comes down here constantly, and
has a good time over them. It was partly his scheme to arrange them this
way."

"And are the paintings his, too, Peter?"

Peter could have hugged her for the way she said Peter. "No," he managed
to remark. "I bought some of them, and Miss De Voe and Lispenard Ogden
the others. People tell me I spoil them by the flat framing, and the
plain, broad gold mats. But it doesn't spoil them to me. I think the
mixture of gold mats and white mats breaks the monotony. And the
variation just neutralizes the monotone which the rest of the room has.
But of course that is my personal equation."

"Then this room is the real taste of the 'plain man,' eh?" inquired
Watts.

"Really, papa, it is plain. Just as simple as can be."

"Simple! Yes, sweet simplicity! Three-thousand-dollar-etching
simplicity! Millet simplicity! Oh, yes. Peter's a simple old dog."

"No, but the woodwork and the furniture. Isn't this an enticing chair? I
must try it." And Leonore almost dissolved from view in its depths.
Peter has that chair still. He would probably knock the man down who
offered to buy it.

It occurred to Peter that since Leonore was so extremely near the
ground, and was leaning back so far, that she could hardly help but be
looking up. So he went and stood in front of the fireplace, and looked
down at her. He pretended that his hands were cold. Watts perhaps was
right. Peter was not as simple as people thought.

It seemed to Peter that he had never had so much to see, all at once,