That
such a connoisseur of art objects could harbor in so broad and
cultured a mind the machinations of such infamy seemed almost
incredible. The riddle was not new with Reginald Warren's case:
for morals and "culture" have shown their sociological, economic
and even diplomatic independence of each other from the time when
the memory of man runneth not!
Shirley's admiration was shrewdly sensed by his host. So after a
tactful introduction to the self-absorbed merrymakers, now in all
stages of stimulated exuberance, he conducted his guest on a tour
of inspection about his rooms.
"So, you like etchings? I want you to see my five Whistlers.
Here is my Fritz Thaulow, and there is my Corot. This crayon by
Von Lenbach is a favorite of mine." His black eyes sparkled with
pride as he pointed out one gem after another in this veritable
storehouse of artistic surprises. Few of the jolly throng gave
evidence of appreciating them: the man was curiously superior to
his associations in education as well as the patent evidence
which Shirley now observed of being to the manor born.
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