"He was not a good artist. But he loved pictures."
"And these he brought back with him after his different visits to Europe?"
"I think that was it, but my aunt has always refused to talk about them."
"Why?"
"She hated my father. She blames him for all the troubles that have come into her life."
"And now she takes that hate out on you?"
The girl did not answer his question. Instead, she placed a smaller canvas for his inspection and said: "Would you care to see the Corot now?"
It was the same story over again, only this time the copy was of a canvas with which he was not familiar; and again he wondered how he was going to be able to tell her. She became conscious of his increasing gravity.
"You don't like them?" she asked at a venture.
The only thing he liked in all that dusty-aired attic was the slender, stooping figure
