I expect it served me right, cuttin’ in abrupt on such a highbrow conversation as that.  Something about the pre-Raphael tendencies of the Barbizon school, I think.

Culture!  Say, if I’m any judge, Claude was battin’ about 400.  It fairly dripped from him.  Talk about broad o’s—­he spilled ’em easy and natural, a font to a galley; and he couldn’t any more miss the final g than a telephone girl would overlook rollin’ her r’s.  And such graceful gestures with the shell-rimmed glasses, wavin’ ’em the whole length of the ribbon when he got real interested.

I don’t think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin’ before.  She seems right at home, fieldin’ that line of chat.  And Vee, too, is more or less under the spell.  As for me, I’m on the outside lookin’ in.  I did manage though, after doin’ the dummy act for half an hour, to lead Vee off to the window alcove and get in a few words.

[Illustration:  “I don’t think I ever saw Auntie come so near beamin’ before.  She seems right at home, fieldin’ that line of chat.  And Vee, too, is more or less under the spell.”]

“Who’s the professor?” says I.

“Why, he isn’t a professor,” says Vee.

“He’s got the patter,” says I.  “Old friend of Auntie’s, I take it?”

No, it wasn’t quite that.  Seems the late Mrs. Creighton had been a chum of Auntie’s ’way back when they was girls, and the fact had only been discovered when Clyde and Auntie got together a few days before at some studio tea doins’.

“About how late was the late Mrs. C. C.?” says I.

“Oh, he has been a widower for several years, I think,” says Vee.  “Poor man!  Isn’t he distinguished-looking?”

“Ye-e-es,” says I.  “A bit stagey.”

“How absurd!” says she.  “Isn’t it fascinating to hear him talk?”

“Reg’lar paralyzin’,” says I.  “I was gettin’ numb from the knees down.”

“Silly!” says Vee, givin’ me a reprovin’ pat.  “Do be quiet; he is telling Auntie about his wife now.”

Yep, he was.  Doin’ it beautiful too, sayin’ what a lovely character she had, how congenial they was, and what an inspiration she’d been to him in his career.

“Indeed,” he goes on, “if it had not been for the gentle influence of my beloved Alicia, I should not be what I am to-day.”

“Say,” I whispers, nudgin’ Vee, “what is he to-day?”

“Why,” says she, “why—­er—­I don’t quite know.  He collects antiques, for one thing.”

“Does he?” says I.  “Then maybe he’s after Auntie.”

First off Vee snickers, after which she lets on to be peeved and proceeds to rumple my hair.  Clyde catches her at it too, and looks sort of pained.  But Auntie’s too much interested in the reminiscences to notice.  Yes, there’s no discountin’ the fact that the old girl was fallin’ for him hard.

Not that we thought much about it at that time.  But later on, when I finds he’s been droppin’ in for tea, been there for dinner Saturday, and has beat me to it again Sunday evenin’, I begins to sprout suspicions.