an in black, contriving to make her survey of Conkling's still youthful figure a slightly contemptuous one.
"You spoke of him as a collector," Conkling found the heart to remind her, out of the ensuing silence. "And that naturally prompts me to ask what became of his collection."
The pallid old eyes grew less abstracted.
"Some of it he sold a year or two before his death."
"And the rest of it?"
"The rest of it has remained ever since in the possession of the family. They are, in fact, held in trust here by me and my sister."
"Paintings, you mean?"
"Yes, paintings," she admitted.
"Then they're the property, I take it, of your niece, Julia?" suggested the young man, only too glad to direct the line of talk into more congenial channels.
"Nominally, but not altogether," was the somewhat acidulated reply. "Julia's father, at his death, left many obligations behind him."
