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 "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,