"A gal!" Mr. Major started. "I presume by that you mean a young lady?"
"A dark gal, with big black eyes, and black hair curling all over her head. She'll go up to the picture and she'll say, 'So this is it, is it? They've hung it as well as it deserves. So this is the man who presumes to teach me painting? He can draw, but he will never paint—never.' Then she will look at the picture again, and she'll say, 'What a fool I am!' Then she'll go to a table, and she'll ask how much the picture is. And the man will say, 'Fifty pounds!' And she'll say to herself, 'That's more than the frame is worth.' Then she'll take out a sort of pocket-book, and she'll hand over five ten-pound notes. And the man'll say, 'What name?' And she'll say 'Briggs.'"
At this point Mr. Major started again—this time most perceptibly.
"What name?"
"She'll say 'Briggs.'"
"Its a lie!"
"It's not a lie. She'll say 'Briggs.' And to herself she'll say, 'I'm not going to flatter him by letting him know I've bought it. He's fool enough already.'"
Mr. Gill paused. Mr. Major stared at him. The little man had spoken with a quiet intensity which, in its way, was most effective. All the time he had kept his eyes fixed upon the stream.
"Anything more, Mr. Gill?"
"About the picture?"
"About the picture. Can you tell me, for instance, whether the name of the lady who is destined to
