"Oh, that, Mr. Thornton." The voice of S. Gedge Antiques suggested that the matter was of such little consequence that it had almost passed from his mind. "S'pose I'd better get it for you." And then with an odd burst of agility, which in one of his years was quite surprising, the old man left the shop, while June, her heart beating high, went on dressing the window.
In three minutes or less, William's picture appeared under the arm of William's master. "Here you are, Mr. Thornton!" The voice was oil.
June made herself small between a Chinese cabinet and a tallboys in the window's deepest gorge. From this point of vantage, the privilege of seeing and hearing all that passed in the shop was still hers.
Foxy Face received the picture in silence from Uncle Si, held it to his eyes, pursed his lips, took a glass from his pocket, and examined it minutely back and front, turning it over and tapping it several times in the process. The slow care he gave to this ritual began to get on June's nerves.
"There's good work in it," said Louis Quinze-legs, at last.
"Good work in it!" said S. Gedge Antiques in what June called his "selling" voice. "I should just think there was."
"But there's one thing it lacks." The little man, looking more than ever like a fox, chose each word with delicacy. "It's a pity—a very great pity—there's no signature."
"Signature!" The old man's tone had lost the drawling sneer of the previous evening. "Tell me, Mr. Thornton," He must have forgotten that June was so near—"if we happened to come upon the sig-
