"Yes. And you know the story of the picture of course?"
Thatcher thought he didn't. Well, no; in fact, he did not remember.
"Why, this recumbent figure was an old Spanish lover of hers, whom she
believed to have been murdered there. It's a ghastly fancy, isn't it?"
Two things annoyed Thatcher: first the epithet "lover," as applied to
Concho by another man; second, that the picture belonged to him: and
what the d---l did she mean by--
"Yes," he broke out finally, "but how did YOU get it?"
"Oh, I bought it of her. I've been a sort of patron of her ever since
I found out how she stood towards us. As she was quite alone here in
Washington, my mother and sister have taken her up, and have been doing
the social thing."
"How long since?" asked Thatcher.
"Oh, not long. The day she telegraphed you, she came here to know what
she could do for us, and when I said nothing could be done except to
keep Congress off, why, she went and DID IT. For SHE, and she alone, got
that speech out of the Senator.
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