ADOLPH KELLER was the man’s name. And as June was to learn
later, he had never felt more amused in his life. It was really a jest
that he should follow a countrified-looking girl into a teashop, get
into conversation with her, and then be quietly told that she had a
Van Roon to sell. There was something rather pathetic in a girl of her
class making such a statement. All she could mean was that somehow she
had got hold of a more or less “dud” copy of “Sun and Cloud,” that much
lithographed work in the National Gallery which in consequence was now
familiar to the big public.
“So you’ve got a Van Roon for sale, have you?” said Adolph Keller, who
was hardly able to keep from laughing outright. “Good for you! What’s
the size of it?”
“Sixteen inches by twelve,” said June, with the patness of one who
prided herself, and with reason, upon a most excellent memory.
“Without the frame?”
June nodded.
“Yes, that’s about the size,” said Keller. “It’s called ‘Sun and
Cloud,’ I suppose?”
“It’s not called anything at present,” said June, “as far as I know,
although sun and cloud are in it.”
“Bound to be--if it’s a Van Roon.”
“And there are trees as well.”
“Trees, are there? A copy of the one in the National Gallery, I expect.
Is there a windmill in the left hand corner?”
There was no windmill in the left hand corner, June declared with
confidence. She remembered that at first William had thought there was,
but had changed his opinion later.
“Then that washes out the National Gallery. I dare say it’s a copy of
‘L’Automne’ in the Louvre. By the way, how did you come by it?”
“It was given to me by a gentleman, a friend of mine,” said June, after
a moment for reflection.
“A very good friend, too.” The tone of the laugh had a little too much
banter to be pleasant. “Isn’t everybody, you know, who gives a Van Roon
to his best girl? A bit of a plutocrat evidently.”
June didn’t know what a plutocrat was, but she was too proud to say so.
She made a mental note to look up the word in the dictionary.
“How did your rich friend come by it? Do you happen to know?”
“He isn’t rich,” said June, with a wish for perfect honesty. “He found
it in a shop.”
“Where was the shop?”
“It was at a place called Crowdham Market.”
“Down in Suffolk. Sounds a funny place to find a Van Roon.”
“It was ever so dirty when it was found. And another picture seemed to
have been painted on the top of it.”
“Queer.” The eyes of Adolph Keller narrowed in their intentness. “Who
told you it was a Van Roon?”
“The man who gave it to me.”
“Who told him?”
“He found the signature.” June’s quiet precision owed something to the
fact that she was now fully and rather deliciously aware of the effect
she was making.
“What!... The signature of Mynheer Van Roon?”
“Yes,” said June.
The incredulity of Keller had yielded now to a powerful curiosity. He
looked at June with a keenness he tried hard to veil. This was a very
unlikely story, yet he knew enough of life to appreciate the fact that
mere unlikelihood is no reason why a story should not be true. Besides,
this girl had such an ingenuous air that it was impossible to believe
her tale was a deliberate invention. At the same time, it had elements
which were particularly hard to swallow.
“Why was the picture given to you?”
“I asked for it,” said June, whose simple honesty now involved a
tell-tale blush.
Mr. Keller looked her steadily in the eye, and then he laughed, but not
unsympathetically.
“Your best boy, I suppose, and he could deny you nothing.”
“That’s it,” said June awkwardly. This audacious irony was new to her,
and she did not know how to meet it.
“By the way, what is this young chap of yours? An artist?”
“Yes,” said June. “I suppose he is--in a way. He studies art and
renovates pictures, and he knows a lot about them.”
“Not so much as he thinks,” said Adolph Keller, “else he would not
be such a fool as to give away a Van Roon, even to a girl as nice and
pretty as you are.”
He had lowered his voice to a whisper of rare sweetness and carrying
power. There was something about him that was powerfully attractive;
at the same time, a look had crept into a pair of rather furtive eyes
which was oddly repellent.
“Do you say you really have this picture in your possession?”
His intentness when he put this question made June feel a little
uncomfortable.
“Yes, it has been given to me.”
“Could you let me see it?”
June hesitated.
“I think I could,” she said, after a pause.
“Well, suppose you bring it round to my studio for me to look at?”
Again June hesitated.
“As you like, of course,” said Keller, carelessly. “I was only thinking
it might be worth your while, that’s all. You see, I happen to know one
or two dealers and people, and I might be able to find out for you just
what it’s worth.”
June saw the force of this. She was in desperate straits, and this man
had the appearance of a friend in need.
“Perhaps I will,” she said.
“Very well,” said the man. “When will you come?”
For a moment June thought hard. “I couldn’t come before Thursday.”
“The day after to-morrow--that’ll suit me. What time?”
June continued to think hard. “It would have to be between three and
four.” She spoke with slow reluctance. “That’s the only time I can
really get away.”
“All right,” said the man, briskly. “You’ll find me at the Haliburton
Street Studios up till five o’clock on Thursday. Number Four. Give a
good ring; the bell is a bit out of gear. My name is Keller. Can you
remember it, or shall I write it down for you, with the address?”
“Write them down for me, please.”
The man tore a leaf from a pocket book, and wrote his name and address
with a fountain pen: Adolph Keller, 4 Haliburton Street Studios,
Manning Square, Soho. When he had done this, and given it to her,
he tore out another leaf and asked her to write down hers. This she
accordingly did, and then the sudden thought of William’s tea caused
her to rise abruptly.
Mr. Keller wished to pay her bill, which was five-pence, but she
declined to let him.
“Au revoir! Thursday afternoon. Manning Square is only about three
minutes from here. Don’t forget,” were the words with which he took
leave of her. “Bring it along. I dare say I’ll be able to tell you
whether it is genuine, and perhaps give you an idea of its value.”
He laughed slightly, and then offered his hand in a very friendly
manner. She took it with a reluctance she was rather ashamed of
showing. He was so kind, so agreeable, so anxious to be of use that
there seemed no warrant for the subtle complexity of feeling he had
aroused in her.