Harding was glad of this, for his heart was set on a certain drawing
by Boucher.
"I would sooner you had it, Harding, than anybody else. It would be
unendurable if one of those picture-dealers should get it; they'd
come round to my house trying to sell it to me again, whereas in
your rooms--"
"Yes," said Harding, "it will be an excuse to come to see me. Well,
if I can possibly afford it--"
"Of course you can afford it; I paid eighty-seven pounds for it years
ago; it won't go to more than a hundred. I'd really like you to have
it."
"Well, for goodness' sake don't talk so loud, somebody will hear
you."
The pictures went by--portraits of fair ladies and ancient admirals,
landscapes, underwoods and deserts, flower and battle pieces,
pathetic scenes and gallantries. There was a time when every one of
these pictures was the hope and delight of a human being, now they
went by interesting nobody....
At last the first of Evelyn's pictures was hoisted on the easel.
"Good God!" isn't it a miserable sight seeing her pictures going to
whomsoever cares to bid a few pounds. But if I were to buy the whole
collection--"
"I quite understand, and every one is a piece of your life.
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