“Miss Jane—,” he said, pausing to look up at me, “did you enjoy class today?” He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket.
“Yes, thank you.” I fidgeted with my portfolio bag strap while I struggled internally for the courage to bring up the painting. “I was wondering if you had some time to talk about the painting from last week.” I forced myself to keep any unrealistic enthusiasm in check. “I was also wondering if you’d sorted out where you’d seen it before.” I bit my lower lip with anxious anticipation.
“Oh, yes—,” he said, abruptly coming to his feet, “I had almost forgotten in all the excitement of that debate.” He quickly tossed his notes into his briefcase and turned to face me. “Miss Jane—,” he said, looking at me with childish excitement. “We have a centuries old mystery on our hands.” His cartoon-eyes danced off his face with theatrics. He picked up his briefcase and cocked his head to one side. His left eye dangled dangerously low to the ground in this position. “Shall we get some tea?”