For by the strangest of coincidences, as I concluded my somewhat old-fashioned little speech of compliments, this very reflection had entered my mind, and with it the memory of the veiled picture which Mr.Savage had pointed out to me on the previous morning.
"I can't say, Mr.Quatermain, but I did know it.

You were thinking of the picture, were you not ?" "And if I was," I said, avoiding a direct reply, "what of it?
Though it is hidden from everybody else, he has only to draw the curtain and see--you." "Supposing he should draw the curtain one day and see nothing, Mr.
Quatermain ?" "Then the picture would have been stolen, that is all, and he would have to search for it till he found it again, which doubtless sooner or later he would do." "Yes, sooner or later.

But where?
Perhaps you have lost a picture or two in your time, Mr.Quatermain, and are better able to answer the question than I am." There was silence for a few moments, for this talk of lost pictures brought back memories which choked me.
Then she began to speak again, low, quickly, and with suppressed passion, but acting wonderfully all the while.

Knowing that eyes were on her, her gestures and the expression of her face were such as might have been those of any young lady of fashion who was talking of everyday affairs, such as dancing, or flowers, or jewels.

She smiled and even laughed occasionally.