CHAPTER XXXII 473
He drew over the picture the sheet of thin paper on which I was accustomed to rest my hand in painting , to prevent the cardboard from being sullied . What he suddenly saw on this blank paper , it was impossible for me to tell ; but something had caught his eye . He took it up with a snatch ; he looked at the edge ; then shot a glance at me , inexpressibly peculiar , and quite incomprehensible : a glance that seemed to take and make note of every point in my shape , face , and dress ; for it traversed all , quick , keen as lightning . His lips parted , as if to speak : but he checked the coming sentence , whatever it was .
" What is the matter ?" I asked .
" Nothing in the world ," was the reply ; and , replacing the paper , I saw him dexterously tear a narrow slip from the margin . It disappeared in his glove ; and , with one hasty nod and " good-afternoon ," he vanished .
" Well !" I exclaimed , using an expression of the district , " that caps the globe , however !"
I , in my turn , scrutinised the paper ; but saw nothing on it save a few dingy stains of paint where I had tried the tint in my pencil . I pondered the mystery a minute or two ; but finding it insolvable , and being certain it could not be of much moment , I dismissed , and soon forgot it .