And now she wanted to persuade herself that she had known from the first there was something in it.
The picture had been bought by the eccentric and notorious landlord of the Elk Hotel, down by the river, on a Sunday afternoon when he was--not drunk, but more optimistic than the state of English society warrants.
He liked the picture because his public-house was so unmistakably plain in it.

He ordered a massive gold frame for it, and hung it in his saloon-bar.

His career as a patron of the arts was unfortunately cut short by an order signed by his doctors for his incarceration in a lunatic asylum.

All Putney had been saying for years that he would end in the asylum, and all Putney was right.
* * * * *.