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While Acton was talking the younger Grafton was absorbed in the picture. The longer he looked the more he admired. He cared for pictures as well as for names, and he saw that this portrait was from a master-hand—the unknown painter had expressed through the features of that one face the whole of the Spaniard in the Middle Ages. He felt it was a reflection upon the name of Grafton that such a work of genius had been cast out obviously because a Grafton could appreciate only names. He said nothing to his father, but then and there made up his mind that he would have that picture back.

Apparently there was no hope. But he was not discouraged; patience and tenacity were the main factors in his temperament.

While he was sick with typhoid fever at a New York hotel Acton got into financial difficulties and was forced to “realize” on all his personal property. His pictures were hurriedly sent to the auctioneer. Grafton, a few days past the crisis in his illness, heard the news at nine o’clock in the evening of the third and last day of the sale. He leaped from bed and ordered the nurse to help him dress. He brushed aside protests and pleadings and warnings. They went together to Mendelssohn Hall. Grafton made the driver gallop the horses. He rushed in; his Spaniard was on the easel.