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coming up at your spring sales.”
    â€œ Le Pecheur ?”
    â€œHow much do you think it will go for?”
    She quoted him the estimate.
    They moved to a picture of a river in spring, with a rowboat. “Is this Seurat worth that much?”
    A thoroughly loaded question. She said, “I can’t tell you.”
    â€œShould I sell the Seurat and buy the Renoir?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause you already have two Renoirs in this room alone and that’s enough.”
    â€œReally.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œTwo paintings by one artist are enough?”
    â€œNo, two Renoirs in one room are enough. You can see too many Renoirs, and once you have, they all start to look like cake frosting.”
    He laughed aloud. “Did Henry offer you anything? What would you like? Tea? A drink?”
    â€œCoffee, please.”
    He went to the door and pressed a buzzer hidden behind a damask hanging.
    Henry arrived with a silver tray bearing a Georgian silver coffee service, a plate of cookies, a can of Tab, and a glass of ice. He settled the tray and poured the Tab, as if he were serving Perrier-Jouët, as a grizzled dachshund trotted in at the open door, stopped in the middle of the room, glared at Avis, and started to bark.
    â€œMabel! Stop it,” said Greenwood, in a tone that said he had long given up hope that Mabel would obey him in anything. “Do you mind dogs?”
    â€œLove them.”
    They sat down together on a sofa and Mabel jumped up between them, still growling softly at Avis.
    â€œHello, little girl,” Avis said to the dog. She offered her hand. Mabel sniffed it and fell silent, appearing mollified. Avis leaned forward to pour herself a cup of coffee, and Mabel lunged, teeth bared, at her nose. Fortunately, in her surprise, Avis laughed.
    â€œNo, that’s enough!” said Greenwood angrily, seizing Mabel. He carried the dog to the door, threw her into the hall, then pulled the door closed. Then he apologized, a thing she guessed he had little practice at.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Avis, truly unruffled. “I was brought up by women like that.” Mabel reminded her strongly of her nanny, Miss Burns. This appeared to delight her host.
    He said, “I’d like you to work for me.”
    There was silence. As often when she didn’t know what to do, Avis did nothing.
    â€œYou don’t have to leave Sotheby’s,” he said. “I’d just like to be able to ask you questions from time to time. Give me your opinions. Maybe bid for me now and then.”
    â€œBut you don’t collect Old Masters,” she said.
    â€œI don’t?”
    Another silence.
    â€œWouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?” she asked.
    â€œNo. Why would it?”
    She couldn’t think of a reason.
    â€œAsk your boss. I’m not asking you to do anything shady. I’m still learning, you know. Always learning. I don’t have time to get a fancy degree, so I like to be able to call on people who know more than I do. But I don’t like to take advantage of people, and no one takes advantage of me. I’ll make sure you earn your money.”
    â€œThere are a lot of people who know more than I do.”
    â€œI know. Some of them work for me too.” He drained his glass, making a sibilant gurgling sound around the ice. Then he stood and said, “Come with me.”
    She followed him out of the room and up the stairs with growing misgiving. On the third floor he led her down a long hallway to a small round room in something like a turret. It was lined floor to ceiling with dark carved glass-front cases that had surely come from some Old World library that predated this house by several centuries. “This is the treasure room. Your boss has been in the room downstairs, but he’s never seen this.”
    She wanted to ask why not, but Greenwood added, “It’s always good to hold