The Imp Disposes
"She don't know where I am!" he chuckled to himself.
"She! Who?" demanded the owner of the watch.
The Imp pointed to the picture. The man laughed loud and long.
"I don't believe she does," he said shortly. "Who do you think it is?
"It is the Countess Potocka," he added after a pause, "and she cares very little, presumably, where you are—or where I am either! It is a famous picture. I love art, and therefore I am in the habit of associating myself with masterpieces."
"That's not her name at all," said the Imp, decidedly. His Aunt Gertrude had insisted on this very same thing with regard to the picture in her room, and it seemed to him a puerile attempt to confuse him. He knew well enough who it was.
"No? She lived under an assumed name, then?" inquired the man with a surprised air. "However, that is a pedantic distinction, as it is by that name she has become dear to so many of us. Don't disturb the popular idea, I beg of you!"
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