your housekeeper. When you spoke of her legacy, did you notice
her eyes."

"Yes."

"Did nothing strike you?"

"It struck me that they were unusually well preserved eyes for a
woman of her age."

The appearance of the valet and the footman put an end to this
idle talk. The will was executed, and locked up. Our conversation
turned on Rothsay's travels by sea. The cruise had been in every
way successful. The matchless shores of the Mediterranean defied
description; the sailing of the famous yacht had proved to be
worthy of her reputation; and, to crown all, Rothsay had come
back to England, in a fair way, for the first time in his life,
of making money.

"I have discovered a treasure," he announced.

"It _was_ a dirty little modern picture, picked up in a by-street
at Palermo. It is a Virgin and Child, by Guido."

On further explanation it appeared that the picture exposed for
sale was painted on copper. Noticing the contrast between the
rare material and the wretchedly bad painting that covered it,
Rothsay had called t o mind some of the well-known stories of
valuable works of art that had been painted over for purposes of
disguise. The price asked for the picture amounted to little more