"Some very disagreeable experiences," he evaded, consoled by the consciousness that his enemy was in some mysterious way on the defensive.
"But if it's your business," she went on, with the austere old eyes fixed on his face, "you must understand about their value; you must have a reasonable idea of what they are worth."
"Madam, nobody understands that nowadays."
"Apparently not," she admitted. "But it's at least possible to estimate the market value of such things, is it not? The value which the dealers in a big city such as yours would set on a collection of canvases?"
There was a note of concession, of unlooked-for hesitation, in her voice as she spoke. It caused Conkling to become serious again.
"It's possible in a way," he explained to her. "But there are cases, of course, where even experts differ."
"But when it's a matter of old mas-
