"Certainly not," she answered.

"Certainly he won't do everything for you, or certainly you will not ask
him--which?" insisted Edmonson.

"Both. I shall never test him, and I shall make no comments on what I
may find on his walls. Nor will you, Master Edmonson, for no gentleman
would."

"Do you object to my seeing it?" She looked at him wonderingly.

"Why should I, if it were open? But I will tell you what I do object to,
to my coming here and seeming to pry upon--the family. I wish it had
been somebody else instead of me who had found it, or that it had never
been found at all. I beg you will spare me, Master Edmonson," And she
looked at him with the rare entreaty of a proud nature.

"Perhaps it's not a picture after all," he said. "You may be mistaken.
Don't you think so?"

"No," she answered. "I am not mistaken, but--."

"Don't fear that I shall speak one word," he cried as she hesitated. "I
would sooner lose my life than annoy you, to say nothing of losing my
amusement. If I can't see what is behind the hanging without doing that,
why, I'll not see it at all."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, dwelling only upon the first part of
his speech. "I was sure you would feel so."