"I had hoped that the Museum might have the Desboro collection some day," she said, in a low voice. He said: "I am sorry it is not to be so," and had the grace to redden a trifle. She played with her pen, waiting for him to continue; and she was so young, and fresh, and pretty that he was in no hurry to finish. Besides, there was something about her face that had been interesting him—an expression which made him think sometimes that she was smiling, or on the verge of it. But the slightly upcurled corners of her mouth had been fashioned so by her Maker, or perhaps had become so from some inborn gaiety of heart, leaving a faint, sweet imprint on her lips. To watch her was becoming a pleasure. He wondered what her smile might be like—all the while pretending an absent-minded air which cloaked his idle curiosity. She waited, undisturbed, for him to come to some conclusion. And all the while he was thinking that her lips were perhaps just a trifle too full—that there was more of Aphrodite in her face than of any saint he remembered; but her figure was thin enough for any saint. Perhaps a course of banquets—perhaps a régime under a diet list warranted to improve—— [Pg 26] [Pg 26] "Did you ever see the Desboro collection, Miss Nevers?" he asked vaguely. "No." "What expert will you send to catalogue and appraise it?" "I could go." "You!" he said, surprised and smiling. "That is my profession." "I knew, of course, that it was your father's. But I never supposed that you——" "Did you wish to have an appraisement made, Mr. Desboro?" she interrupted dryly.
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