She avoided him and, moving away, seated
herself in a chair at the opposite side of the desk. The avoidance was
so obvious as to be almost brutal. Captain Elisha looked very grave for
an instant. Then he changed the subject.
"I was lookin' at your oil paintin's," he said. "They're pretty fine,
ain't they? Any of them your work, Caroline?"
"MY work?" The girl's astonishment was so great that she turned to stare
at her questioner. "MY work?" she repeated. "Are you joking? You can't
think that I painted them."
"I didn't know but you might. That one over there, with the trees and
folks dancin'--sort of picnic scene, I judge--that looks as if you might
have done it."
"That is a Corot."
"'Tis, hey? I want to know! A--a--what did you call it?"
"A Corot. He was a famous French artist. That was father's favorite
picture."
"Sho! Well, I like it fust-rate myself. Did 'Bije--did your father know
this Mr. Corot well?"
"Know him? Certainly not. Why should you think such a thing as that?"
"Well, he bought the picture of him, and so I s'pose likely he knew him.
There was a young feller come to South Denboro three or four year
ago and offered to paint a picture of our place for fifteen dollars.
Abbie--that's Abbie Baker, she's one of our folks, you know, your third
cousin, Caroline; keepin' house for me, she is--Abbie wanted me to have
him do the job, but I wa'n't very particular about it, so it never come
to nothin'.
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