"I never advise; people must make up their minds for themselves." Then,
as though it were an after-thought: "What sort of pictures are they?"

"There are a Corot, a Mauve, and a Daubigny, I believe. The Corot is said
to be a particularly good one."

"Um--what does she want for them?"

"I don't think poor Mary has any idea about the price; she asked me, but
there's one thing I won't do, and that's to be mixed up in an art deal--"

Ringsmith's eyes flashed; he flicked the ash off his cigar angrily.

"Mixed up--art deal! Then why the devil do you come to me?"

Peter Knott smiled at him benignly.

"Oh! Because you and I are old friends, Stephen. I'm sure you'll treat
her better than any one else."

Ringsmith moved uneasily.

"Why don't you tell her to go to some one else first? I like people to
fix their price before they come to me, then I can take it or leave it.
They've got such fantastic ideas about the value of things."

"Oh, very well, if you prefer. I thought you'd be pleased I came to you,
but of course--"