"I wonder how I blundered into the wrong room just now; I thought
you told me to take the second door to the left," Faxon said to
Frank Rainer as they followed the older men down the gallery.
"So I did; but I probably forgot to tell you which staircase to
take. Coming from your bedroom, I ought to have said the fourth
door to the right. It's a puzzling house, because my uncle keeps
adding to it from year to year. He built this room last summer for
his modern pictures."
Young Rainer, pausing to open another door, touched an electric
button which sent a circle of light about the walls of a long room
hung with canvases of the French impressionist school.
Faxon advanced, attracted by a shimmering Monet, but Rainer laid a
hand on his arm.
"He bought that last week for a thundering price. But come along--
I'll show you all this after dinner. Or HE will rather--he loves
it."
"Does he really love things?"
Rainer stared, clearly perplexed at the question. "Rather! Flowers
and pictures especially! Haven't you noticed the flowers? I
suppose you think his manner's cold; it seems so at first; but
he's really awfully keen about things."