"Yes, my dear, I go on and _up_! We'd be stewin' in our own juice in a

silly old sleepy town if it hadn't been for me. On and--up! What a

motter for a Christmas cracker! Married the right woman, too, a perfect

lady!"

"Joe--please!"

Hunsaker was much amused. He had liked the little man at first sight;

he was quite as delighted with his family. Quinney continued in high

good humour:

"I chose her"--he pointed at Susan, who blushed. "And the result," he

pointed at Posy, who did not blush, "justifies my choice--hey?"

"You bet it does," said Hunsaker. "Miss Quinney is by all odds the most

precious object in this wonderful room--the gem, if I may say so, of

your remarkable collection."

Quinney gazed fondly at his daughter. He had almost forgotten the

chairs.

"Just like a bit of Chelsea, Mr. Hunsaker. The real soft paste, and as

good as she's pretty; the apple of her father's eye. Plays the pianner

and the mandoline! Sings like a canary!"

Posy expostulated.

"Father! Please!" She put her finger to her pretty lips.

Hunsaker, feeling that he had known these pleasant people all his life,

said significantly:

"You won't keep her long, sir."

"What?"

"Not if there are any spry young men about."

Quinney betrayed real uneasiness. It flashed upon him suddenly that

this abominable loss was inevitable. He consoled himself with the

reflection that no spry young men had been about. Then he said with

unction:

"I'm going to hang on tight to my little girl. She is the gem of my

collection. Cost me more than money, too." He sank his voice

confidentially. "Nearly cost me her pore dear mother. By Gum! I

remember swearing that I'd give up selling imitation oak as the real

stuff, if my old Dutch pulled through."

"And did you?" Hunsaker asked.

"I did. More, I tore up a big card that used to live in our front

window--'_Genuine Antiques!_' Yes; never sold faked stuff after that,

unless labelled as such. Lordy! I'm wastin' your valuable time."

"Not at all."

"Posy, show Mr. Hunsaker that case o' miniatures. I've a Samuel Cooper,

two Englehearts, a Plimer, and half a dozen Cosways."

Hunsaker shook his head.

"I know nothing about miniatures. There's a daisy of a china cabinet!"

"It is. Delighted to show you stuff, Mr. Hunsaker. You've the

collector's eye. Take a squint at those blue and white jars on the

mantelpiece."

"I'd sooner look at your chairs."

Quinney said lightly:

"You can look, at anything you like, Mr. Hunsaker, but I understood from

Mr. Tomlin that you had all the mahogany you wanted."

"More than I want," replied Hunsaker grimly. "I've been much imposed

upon, Mr. Quinney, with mahogany."

Susan flitted quietly from the room. Posy began to rub the lacquer of

the Chinese cabinet. She heard her father saying:

"Dear, dear! I've been done, too--crisp as a biscuit! Everybody's

done, hey?"

"I'm never done twice by the same man." He bent down to examine the

carving of the chairs. "These are immense--the finest I've ever seen."

"By Gum! I wish you could have seen the settee which I sold to the

Grand Duke of Roosia."

Hunsaker hardly heard him. He was becoming absorbed in the chairs.

"The papers report you as having paid nine hundred pounds for the set."

Quinney chuckled, nodding his head.

"That's right! I'd had two glasses of old brown sherry after lunch. My

tip to all and sundry is: Buy before lunch, unless you're a blooming

vegetarian and teetotaler."

Hunsaker prided himself upon the directness of his business methods. He

said tentatively:

"Would you take a handsome profit on these chairs?"

"You look at that lac cabinet, and you won't want to buy chairs."

Hunsaker did look at the lac cabinet, and the girl beside it, softly

rubbing its polished surface. He crossed to her, smiling.

"On a Charles the Second stand," added Quinney. "The inside is as

beautiful as the outside--more so. I'll show it to you. Where's the

key?"

He addressed Posy, but she pretended not to hear him.

"Where's the key?" he repeated.

"I saw it yesterday," said Posy quietly. Her heart began to beat

uncomfortably, as she thought of her letter in the middle drawer.

"Can you see it now, missie? Is it on the floor?"

Hunsaker interrupted:

"Please don't trouble. Is that screen Chinese?"

"Yes; incised lacquer. They wanted that for the South Kensington

Museum. Hits you bang in the eye, don't it?"

Hunsaker examined it as Quinney expatiated upon the enamelling and

colour. His enthusiasm, his accurate knowledge, his love of precious

objects for their beauty of design and craftsmanship, impressed the

young man tremendously. He remembered what Tomlin had said: "You'll

find Quinney a character. What he tells you is right is right! That's

how he's built up a thumping big business." Hunsaker had not been

vastly impressed by Tomlin, but he was quite certain that he had spoken

the truth about Quinney. His heart warmed to the little man. When

Quinney paused he said gratefully:

"I'm much obliged; it's an education to see such treasures."

"The only education I've had, Mr. Hunsaker."

"I only wish that I could tempt you to part with one of them--this

cabinet, for instance."

"It's not for sale. I'd like to oblige you. Is there anything else you

particularly fancy?"

Hunsaker's roving eye was captivated by the K'ang He mirror-black

bottle, standing alone in its glory upon the top of the cabinet.

"I like that black and gold jar."

"Um! It's not bad, but there ought to be two of 'em."

Posy wiped her pretty forehead. At the mention of the K'ang He jar, in

which lay snug the key of the cabinet, she had trembled with

apprehension. Hunsaker said quickly:

"I'd like the chairs best of all. You bought them yesterday for nine

hundred. Will you take eleven hundred?"

"Yes," said Quinney, "I will."

He pulled out a pocket-book and extracted a slip of paper from it.

"You can have this, Mr. Hunsaker. Don't destroy it! Keep it in your

safe."

Hunsaker took it.

"Christopher's receipt for my cheque. It proves that the chairs fetched

the price named at public auction."

"Thank you."

"And now, to sweeten our first deal, I'll make you a little present.

You fancied that K'ang He bottle. It's yours."

He advanced towards the bottle. Posy said hurriedly:

"Shall I go and clean it, father?"

"Clean it? It's as clean as you are, my pretty."

"You are very generous," said Hunsaker.

Quinney winked and chuckled joyously.

"Biz! There are other things downstairs, Mr. Hunsaker. Are you buying

these chairs for yourself?"

As he spoke he held the bottle in both his hands, caressing it softly.

"Why, certainly. Have them cased, please, and consigned to my agents in

New York, who will see them through the Custom House. Any marks on that

jar, Mr. Quinney?"

Quinney handed to him the bottle.

"I don't think so; they never marked them bottles. It's marked all

over."

Hunsaker turned it upside down, and the key of the cabinet fell out.

"The missing key," said Quinney. "Now what fool stuffed it in there?"

He replaced it in the lock of the cabinet.

"Like to see the inside?" he asked.

Posy was in torment. In desperation she blurted out:

"Father, dear, Mr. Hunsaker may have other engagements."

"I have," said Hunsaker. "Important ones, too. Thank you, Miss

Quinney." He turned to her father. "May I call to-morrow at eleven,

and have another look round?"

"Glad to see you any time."

As he was speaking, Susan drifted back. Hunsaker went up to her,

speaking cordially:

"This has been a very pleasant and informal visit, Mrs. Quinney. Do you

ever go to the play?"

"Sometimes," said Susan.

"Often," added Posy. Her face was sparkling with smiles. Her cheeks

were delicately flushed. Hunsaker said gaily:

"Will you three nice people dine and do a play with me?"

"You must leave me out," said Quinney.

Posy answered for her mother and herself:

"We shall be delighted, Mr. Hunsaker."

The young man shook hands. He seemed to hold Posy's hand a thought

longer than was necessary. Quinney chuckled, because he was thinking

that if his Posy were to be taken away by some enterprising young man

she might well be captured by Cyrus P. Hunsaker, of Hunsaker. Inspired

by this thought he enjoined his daughter to accompany the visitor as far

as the shop. Characteristically, he blurted out what was in his mind,

as soon as he found himself alone with Susan.

"He's taken a shine to our girl, Susie."

"Fiddle!" said Susan, for the second time.

"Stoopid expression! You must break yourself of that. I tell you it's

true. Couldn't ask for nothing better. Fine upstanding young chap."

"A foreigner!"

"Nonsense. They could spend half their time over here. You might give

the child a hint. Tell her to play up."

"What an idea!"

"I have ideas, Susie. We can't expect to keep her; and the best in this

country won't marry a tradesman's daughter. He's as good as any in his

country. See?"

"I see a large mare's nest," replied Susan.

Posy returned, brimming with the determination to retrieve her letter.

Quinney beckoned to her.

"Come you here, my girl." He took her head between his hands, and gazed

at her proudly. "Did that young fellow squeeze your hand just now?"

"Father!"

"None o' your sauce! Did he?"

"Well, yes, he did."

Quinney winked triumphantly at Susan. He kissed Posy, and said

superbly:

"You've got a daddy with ambitions, a kind, loving, clever old daddy!

Lordy! Sometimes I fair wonder at myself, I do. Because I've climbed

so high. But you're a-going higher--bang up! Good looks, I'll admit you

got them from mother, and good brains, same as mine. Quick wits, God

bless you! You made a hit with young Hunsaker! A bull's-eye! Now

scoot, both of you! I've a lot of business."

"I haven't finished dusting, daddy."

"Yes, you have, when I say so. Scoot!"

Unhappily, there was nothing else to do.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*EXPLOSIONS*

*I*

"I've sold the chairs, James. Take 'em away. Pack 'em up at once! Nail

down the cases. See?"

"Yes, sir. I congratulate you, sir."

"Pack up extra carefully that K'ang He bottle."

"The K'ang He bottle?"

Something in his tone arrested Quinney's attention. It brought to mind

what, for the moment, he had forgotten--the loss of the key and its

tumbling out of the bottle. James, perhaps unconsciously, had glanced

at the cabinet, and Quinney's alert eyes had intercepted the somewhat

furtive, shifting glance. He said sharply:

"The key of the cabinet was in that bottle. Did you put it there?"

James hesitated and was lost. Had he replied promptly, either in the

affirmative or negative, his employer doubtless would have dismissed the

incident from his mind. James, unhappily, was constrained to determine

swiftly the expediency of saying "Yes."

"I may have done so," he replied. He went on fluently: "The key fits

badly, tumbles out of the lock sometimes. I meant to tell you."

Quinney blinked at him, wondering why he answered evasively. How did he

know that the key fitted loosely? It was not his business to touch the

cabinet. At the same time he was conscious that James, as the restorer

of the chairs, had been very prompt with his congratulations. Of course

he knew everything; he had to know; and equally of course the secret of

the fake bidding was perfectly safe with him, inasmuch as he had

received a share of the plunder. Quinney had raised his salary; Tomlin

had tipped him handsomely.

"Nice profit for you, sir," continued James blandly.

"Not bad," Quinney admitted.

"Splendid idea, sir, buying in your own stuff."

Quinney rather winced at this, but he covered a slight confusion by his

bluff manner and candid speech. He could not flimflam James. It would

be fatuous to play the hypocrite with an accomplice. He said

confidentially:

"Christopher's receipt just clinched matters. You ought to have been

here, my lad. An object lesson for you, by Gum!"

James's voice was very silky as he murmured:

"Nobody like you, sir, to sell stuff."

"Right you are, James, even if I do say it. There ain't my superior in

London--that means the world."

It was then that James led trumps for the first time. He continued in

the same ingratiating tone:

"Oh yes, sir. And such a father, too."

Quinney swallowed this easily, smacked his lips over it, much to James's

satisfaction.

"Always done my duty, my lad. That's a thought to stick to one's

ribs--hey? Never can remember the day when I couldn't say that. And

the fam'ly, as I read only t'other day, is the unit o' national life.

Square, too, I've been, within reasonable limits, although I do make

ignorance pay a profit to knowledge. I know a lot, more'n you think

for. And you owe a lot to me, James."

"Yes, sir."

"You're very useful to me, my lad, and your future will be my special

care."

James smiled.

"Thank you, sir."

Afterwards, Quinney admitted to Susan that at this particular moment

James's good looks had hit him, so to speak, in the eye. But he did not

consider them in relation to Posy. We know that the little man was

amazingly shrewd whenever his own interests were imperilled. And it had

occurred to him, not for the first time, that there might be "something"

between his handsome foreman and his quite attractive typist. He could

trust James. Could he trust Mabel Dredge? Some men babbled indiscreetly

to the girls.

"You'll be thinking of gettin' married one of these fine days?"

"I have thought of it, sir."

The young man spoke so pleasantly that Quinney's heart warmed to him.

Moreover, he liked and respected Mabel.

"Good! What you want is a helpmate, a worker like yourself, strong,

healthy, and comely."

"Strong, healthy, and comely," repeated James.

"One who'll work hard in your house, while you're working hard in mine.

There are young fellows in your position, my lad, who make fools o'

theirselves by falling in love with young ladies. Useless creatures!

It would hurt me to see you doin' that, James."

"I'm sure it would. Much obliged, sir."

"Not at all. Never so happy as when I'm thinking for others."

James removed the chairs.

*II*

Once more alone, Quinney thought of sending for Mabel Dredge, but he lit

a cigar instead, and took stock of his treasures, wondering whether he

could screw himself up to part with the lacquer cabinet. Hunsaker would

buy it. He would pay gladly a thumping price. Quinney approached it,

puffing leisurely at his excellent cigar. As he did so the mysterious

hiding of the key recurred to him. He stared at the cabinet, frowning.

Then he opened it.

Always, on such occasions, the hidden beauties of this miracle of

craftsmanship appealed to him with ever-increasing strength. The

lacquer inside was as softly fresh as upon the day when the last coat

was lovingly applied. So soft, and yet so hard, that it could not be

scratched with the nail.

He gloated over it.

At this moment he was absolutely at peace with himself and the world.

He would not willingly have changed places with the mighty Marquess of

Mel. If there was a fly in his precious ointment, it might be considered

so tiny as to be negligible. The most illustrious of the Chinese

craftsmen, artists to their finger tips, lacked one small knack common

to the English artisan. The drawers in these seventeenth-century

cabinets did not, alas, slide in and out with the beautiful smoothness

characteristic of the best English specimens. Quinney pulled out two or

three of them.

In one he perceived a letter. He examined it. It was addressed:

"To my own Blue Bird."

*III*

The writing was Posy's.

Quinney stared at it, palsied with amazement. Then he read it, and

re-read it, till the full meaning of what it meant had percolated

through and through his mind. His cigar went out. He sat at his desk

with the letter in his hand, dazed for the moment, breathing hard, very

red in the face. The fingers which held the sheet of notepaper

twitched. He noticed a faint fragrance of lavender, a perfume much

affected by Posy, and he remembered vividly a certain afternoon, long

ago, when Susan had sat in the garden of the Dream Cottage filling small

muslin bags with lavender to place between the baby linen of their tiny

daughter.

Slowly, a dull anger and rancour grew in him. What did this shameless

baggage mean by deceiving him and Susan? He included Susan. Physically

he was overwhelmed, eviscerated, almost faint with impotent rage, but he

found himself wondering what Susan would say. Suppose--his heart grew

cold--suppose she knew! What! His faithful wife a party to this

abominable fraud on him? Impossible!

He rose up wearily, and walked with unsteady steps to the door.

"Susan!" he cried querulously.

Posy appeared, wreathed in smiles. With a terrific effort her father

smiled frozenly at her.

"Send your mother to me!" he said stiffly. "I want to see her at once on

a small matter of business."

"Right O!" replied Posy.

He returned to his desk. When Susan, came in she perceived at once the

change in him.

"Gracious, Joe, is this house afire?"

"No. I am. Shut the door."

She did so, and then approached him.

"Whatever is the matter?"

He held up the billet and said hoarsely, "Listen. I found this in the

lacquer cabinet five minutes ago. It's in Posy's writin'. And it's

addressed 'To my own Blue Bird.'"

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

The sight of her weakness strengthened him, but he exclaimed testily:

"Don't make them stoopid noises. They sound like a mind out of whack.

Sit tight! I'm a-going to read this precious letter bang through, a

letter written by your daughter."

Susan, wriggling on the edge of a chair, protested feebly:

"My daughter? Ain't she yours, too?"

"I'm beginning to doubt it." He read aloud, "'My own Blue Bird----'"

"Who is her Blue Bird, Joe?"

"We'll come to that soon enough. I may mention that there was a play

called 'The Blue Bird'! to which you took Posy twice, and you jawed for

three days of nothing else. A damn blue bird, accordin' to you, stands

for happiness--hey?"

"Yes."

He went on reading, "'It was splendidly clever of you to think of using

that silly old cabinet----' Silly old cabinet! Hear that? And I've

refused a thousand guineas for it!"

"Go on, dear!"

"I'm going on if you'll kindly stop wigglin' your leg. I'm going bang

to the outside edge of this. Pay partic'lar attention. 'It was

splendidly clever of you to think of using that silly old cabinet as a

pillar box, and the fact that we are corresponding under the nose of

father makes the whole affair deliriously exciting and romantic. I

should like to see his funny face----' Is my face funny? Is it?"

"Not now, Joe. Is there any more?"

"Is there any more, Mrs. Ask-Another? D'ye think a girl educated at no

expense spared ends a sentence in the middle of it? Keep that leg

still, and I'll finish. 'I should like to see his funny face if he

could read this.'"

"My!"

"She shall see it, by Gum! 'We've got to be most awfully careful,

because if he caught me talking to you except about his dull old

business he would simply chatter with rage. But we must have a long

talk together, and as soon as possible. Why not to-night? Father and

mother are always fast asleep by eleven. At half-past eleven to the

minute I shall slip down to the sanctuary. You be ready downstairs.

I'll whistle softly through the tube; then you nip up, and we'll have a

perfectly lovely talk. Your own POSY.'"

"But, Joe, who is her Blue Bird?"

"He'll be black and blue when I've man-handled him. It's that dog,

James Miggott."

Susan grew pale and trembled. She had never seen her Joe so moved to

fury, not even when he had been "downed" by the pseudo Major Archibald

Fraser. She faltered out:

"Joe, dear, James is much bigger than you."

To this Quinney replied ironically:

"After all these years o' church goin' I thought you believed that Right

was stronger than Might. Has it all soaked in? Did you mark that word

'dull' applied to my business? Do you know what the contents o' this

room would fetch at Christopher's, if the right men were biddin'?"

"Indeed, indeed, I don't."

"Nobody knows what my collection would fetch. The Quinney Collection!

S'pose I leave everything to the nation--hey?"

Susan sat bowed and silent before the storm.

*IV*

Quinney did not look at her. Her attitude, her troubled face were

sufficient alone to acquit her of any possible complicity in this

abominable affair. The more he considered it as a tremendous fact in

their lives, the more incredible, the more irrational it became to him.

His Posy, the Wonder Child, the gem of the Quinney Collection, writing

love-letters to an obscure faker of furniture, a "downy" cove, a rather

sullen hireling, who earned four quid a week! Had his child been born

and educated "regardless" for--this? Had Susan and he suffered pangs

unforgettable in order that their child should forsake them for this

maggot of a Miggott?

Never!

Slowly, his fighting instinct asserted itself. Catastrophe of any kind

overwhelmed him at first, and then his vitality, his recuperative

qualities, would come to the rescue. He must fight this issue to the

end. His dull anger and rancour passed. His active wits began to work.

He felt oddly sensible of a certain exhilaration, the conviction that he

would soar, like the Melchester spire, above these ignominies and

disasters.

He stood up, inhaling deep breaths, smiling grimly.

"What are you going to do, Joe?"

"Watch on, and see."

He replaced the billet in its envelope, which had been left open. Then

he crossed to the cabinet, and put the letter into the drawer where he

had found it. He closed the doors of the cabinet, and came back to his

desk. About all these actions there was an automatic precision, as if

the man had been transformed into a machine.

Susan murmured:

"Joe, you frighten me."

"Wouldn't do that for the world, Susie." His voice was slightly less

hard. "I'm going to frighten them. See?"

"How?"

"I'm going to catch 'em together in this room to-night."

"Gracious!"

"And you've got to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, behind that

screen. At the right moment, when least expected, we'll pop out."

"And what will you say?"

"Ho! What will I say? Between now and then, my dear, I shall think

over what I'm going to say. Words won't fail me. I shall down the pair

of them, rub their noses in their insolence and folly."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Susan.

*CHAPTER XIX*

*THINGS AND PERSONS*

*I*

That night, as usual, the Quinneys retired to bed at half-past ten. At

eleven, the door of Joe's bedroom opened noiselessly, and the little

man's head, crowned with a ridiculous smoking-cap appeared. His body

followed arrayed in a flowered silk dressing-gown. Posy's room was

upstairs.

Susan joined her husband. She was wearing what may be described as a

compromise kit. Her pretty hair, still long and abundant, hung down her

back in two braids. She had put on a peignoir of wadded silk, a garment

not likely to rustle as she walked. Upon her small feet were thick felt

slippers. In this costume she looked ten years younger, and she was

pleasurably aware of this for reasons that will appear presently.

Quinney closed his bedroom door. They listened for a moment, but no

sound came from above. Probably Posy was in bed, counting the minutes

till the big clock on the stairs summoned her to meet her lover.

Quinney and Susan tip-toed down to the first floor. In the sanctuary a

fire was burning in the dog-grate. Quinney smiled grimly, as he realized

that Posy had replenished it with logs which burned brightly enough to

illuminate the room with a soft amber glow.

"Sit down, mother."

Susan sat down in an armchair just opposite the fire. As a rule, this

chair occupied its own particular corner. Posy, therefore, must have

placed it in front of the hearth. Evidently Posy considered that one

chair would suffice for two persons.

Meanwhile, Quinney made his dispositions behind the screen. Presently

he appeared, rubbing his hands and chuckling quietly. The walls in

these fine old houses were so comfortably sound-proof, that he had no

hesitation in speaking in his usual voice.

"There! Couched in the ambush, as Shakespeare says. Do you remember,

old dear, when me and you took a course o' the Bard to improve our

powers o' speech?"

Susan sighed. In the tender light she looked almost the Susan whom he

had courted long ago.

"Yes; we were young then, Joe."

"We're young still, dearie. Young and spry! Full o' beans."

He stood on the hearth, facing her, with his back to the glowing logs,

looking down upon her delicate features. She raised her eyes to his,

speaking in a soft voice, with a faint smile flickering about her mouth.

Quinney had fallen in love with her dimples. He thought he could see the

ghost of one in the cheek slightly turned from the fire. His attitude,

erect and sturdy, her attitude, the firelight, the lateness of the

hour--these recalled insistently the sweet past, when Mrs. Biddlecombe

used to leave the lovers to talk over the present and the future. Susan

remembered, with an odd little pang at her heart, how satisfied she had

been with that present, although Joe insisted upon forecasting their

future. And his predictions, those ambitions which she had regarded as

vaulting high above human probability, had come to pass. He was famous

and rich!

"Joe dear!"

"What is it?"

"You became engaged to me, didn't you, against your father's wish, and

unbeknown to mother? Yes, you did."

"And what of it?"

"I never told mother that day you kissed me for the first time behind

our parlour door."

"Now, Susie, what are you gettin' at? Circumstances alter cases. My

father made a white nigger o' me. But, by Gum! I wasn't disobedient."

"You were, and you know it."

"What do you mean?"

"You took up with me against his wish."

"Ho! I honoured him by marrying the best girl in Melchester."

Susan said solemnly:

"You did deceive him, Joe."

"Serve him right, too."

"I say you deceived him."

"Well, for the Lord's sake, don't go on sayin' it, repeatin' yourself

like an old poll parrot. Father never did do you justice. He never did

know quality. Quantity was what he'd go for. Lordy! how he used to

waller in cheap job lots!"

Susan ignored this. With slow pertinacity, working steadily to her

point, she continued:

"And I deceived my pore mother. Used to wear my engagement ring at

night."

She lifted her hand and looked at it. What a wonderful present it had

been reckoned. Three turquoises with small brilliants, paid for out of

the savings of a "white nigger"!

Joe stared at the ring. It seemed to shine out of the past. He

remembered everything. For instance, he had not haggled about the price

demanded--six pounds! He had felt that haggling would be indecent. He

said pensively:

"I used to envy that ring, Susie. I used to think of you asleep, and

wonder what you looked like." He sighed. "Great times them was, to be

sure!"

Susan met his glance.

"Because of those times," she whispered, "go a bit easy, Joe, with these

young people."

But his face hardened immediately.

"You leave that to me, my dear. I'll fix 'em to rights. I'll sweep the

cobwebs out o' their silly noddles."

"If you'll try not to forget that we was just as silly once."

"Silly? Us? That won't wash, Susie. Like mated like."

Susan remained silent.

*II*

When Posy entered the room, her parents were sitting snug behind the

incised lacquer screen. The girl added a fresh log to the fire, and

smiled as she looked at the big empty chair. She was wearing a very

becoming pale blue dressing-gown. Her hair, like Susan's, hung down her

back in two thick pigtails tied with pale blue ribbon. Her bare feet

were thrust into pale blue slippers. She might have been sixteen

instead of eighteen, and about her there breathed a virginal air,

deliriously fresh and fragrant. She smelled of lavender.

She went to the speaking-tube, and whistled down it. When her signal

was answered, she said joyously:

"It's all right, Jim. Father fast asleep and snoring! Come up! Take

your shoes off! The fourth stair from the top creaks horribly. Skip

that!"

She hung up the tube, and spread her hands before the fire, warming

them. Upon the third finger of her right hand sparkled a ring. Upon

her charming face a smile sparkled also, as she listened for the step of

her lover.

James came in, carrying his slippers in his hand. He was dressed as

usual in a well-cut blue serge suit. He closed the door noiselessly, and

held out his arms. Posy flew into them, with a sigh of satisfaction, but

when he hugged her too masterfully, she protested, blushing, slipping

from his embrace with a low laugh.

"You must promise to behave reasonably."

"Reasonably? Don't you like being kissed by me?"

"Of course I--er--like it."

"Awfully?"

"If you sit in that chair, I'll sit on the arm of it. Please! Be good!"

He obeyed. She fussed over him, arranging the cushion behind his back,

touching him almost furtively, but laughingly, evading his touches,

obviously the elusive nymph, captivated but not yet captured. James

turned to look at her, slipping his arm round her waist.

"You are a sweet!" he said fervently.

"Am I much prettier than Mabel Dredge?"

"Rather! What made you mention her?"

"Oh, nothing. But mother was saying only this morning that six months

ago, when I was at school, she thought that Mabel Dredge and you might

make a match of it."

"What rubbish!"

He spoke irritably, too irritably a finer ear might have decided.

"I expect you flirted with her a teeny-weeny bit?"

"As if any man with eyes in his head would look at Miss Dredge when you

were about."

"But I wasn't about then."

It was so evident that she was merely teasing him in the most innocent,

girlish way, that he smiled and pressed her closer to him, whispering:

"Don't let's jaw about Miss Dredge. I say, isn't this cosy?"

"Isn't it? Fancy if father could see us now. Jim, dear, I simply adore

the excitement of this--our meeting here in the sanctuary. By the way,

are you as mad as daddy about things?"

"Things?"

"Things as opposed to persons. Could you fall down and worship

figures?"

"I could worship your figure."

"You know what I mean, I'm simply wondering what effect this particular

business has had upon your character. Don't frown! We must admit that

his business hasn't improved poor father. And as for Mr. Tomlin----"

Jim said slowly:

"What do you mean exactly by business affecting character?"

She paused to consider. Jim kissed her. Perhaps it was significant

that she did not return his kiss, being absorbed in her quest for the

right word. She continued slowly:

"I hoped you would guess what I meant. Of course, poor father is

honest. I have always been so proud of that. It would break my heart

if he were like that horrid Mr. Tomlin, but he does care too much for

what mother calls sticks and stones. They have come between him and

her; and they have come between him and me. I have never really known

how much he loved me. And now this is going to be a test, because if he

does love me really and truly he will put my happiness before his

ambition, won't he?"

He kissed her again, and once more she let him do it, passively, gazing,

so to speak, into his mind rather than his heart.

Jim spoke curtly.

"Make up your mind to this, Posy. There will be a big row. It's

inevitable."

Posy laughed.

"How like a man! Big rows are never inevitable. And daddy is an awful

old fuss-pot, but his bark is much worse than his bite. When he barks

at me I laugh inside. Now, Jim, are you necessary to father?"

"Necessary? Perhaps I am more necessary than he thinks, because I know

too much to be treated badly. He would hardly dare to sack me."

"Not dare!"

"I mean that I have a sort of 'pull' with him. And I'm a hard worker,

and a first-class cabinet-maker. When the time comes for him to take a

partner he couldn't find a better man than I am."

Posy laughed.

"Jim, I declare you have caught father's habit of swanking."

"Swank, or no swank, I think I can make terms with your father, and the

time has come to do it."

"I'd sooner things went on as they are for the present."

"Why?"

"Well, we haven't seen very much of each other as yet. Why, we hardly

know each other."

"I have reasons, dearest, for wishing to tackle your father as soon as

possible."

"What reasons?"

She spoke coaxingly, laying her cheek close to his.

"I must keep them to myself for the present. You trust me?"

"Oh, yes, but I'm horribly curious! Are you cross?"

"No, darling, I'm impatient. I want you to be wholly mine."

He laid his lips upon hers, and felt a slight pressure in return. When

he pressed her to him, she thrilled. He kissed her ear, as he whispered:

"Do you ever think of what it will be like when you are mine?"

"Ye-es."

"Sit on my lap, you darling!"

He half-pushed her off the arm of the chair. She stood up, hesitating,

the colour ebbing and flowing in her cheeks.

"I have never done that."

He held out both hands.

"Isn't it time to begin? Is your dear little heart beating?"

"Yes, it is. Almost loud enough for father to hear. But I feel--I

feel----" Her voice died away in an attenuated whisper.

"What do you feel?"

"As if--as if we were playing hide-and-seek in the dark. I'm rather

frightened. I suppose it's stupid. I----"

James stood up, facing her. Passion quivered in his voice as he

exclaimed:

"I'm going to kiss the fear of me out of you--now!"

"No, you ain't!" said Quinney.

*III*

The lovers sprang apart as Quinney emerged from behind the screen. He

addressed the trembling Posy first.

"Thought it likely you might make a fool of yourself, and I've not been

disappointed. Come on, mother!"

Susan appeared, looking very confused and miserable.

"Look at her," continued Quinney. "She's blushin' to the roots of her

hair for you."

At this Posy pulled herself together, and remarked defiantly:

"I'm not the least little bit ashamed of myself!"

"Sorry to hear that, my girl; it fair furs my tongue to find you here.

Now then, like to take it sittin' or standin'?"

"Take what?"

"The dose I'm goin' to deal out to a deceitful, disobedient, ungrateful

daughter. Sharper than a serpent's tooth, you are!"

So far, he had ignored James, who was standing back, not far from the

door.

"I'll take it standing," replied Posy, "beside Jim."

Then, to Quinney's rage, she tripped across the room, and flung her arms

round the young man's neck. Susan, ever mindful, like a true

Biddlecombe, of the proprieties, murmured gaspingly:

"Posy! Please remember what you've not got on!"

"This beats the band," said Quinney. "I call this rank mutiny."

"It's--it's Nature," faltered Susan.

"You hold your tongue, mother! A nice couple, I do declare! Can you

cook, Miss Independence?"

Posy removed her arms from James's neck, but she remained standing

beside him.

"Cook? Not me. You know I can't cook. Why?"

"Thought not. Anything of a hand with your needle?

"No."

Quinney turned to Susan, who had sunk into a chair. The youth had faded

out of her comely face. Every time that Quinney spoke she winced. A

couple of tears were trickling down her cheeks.

"Why didn't you teach this young lady to use a broom, mother? Can she

wash anything more useful than her own hands?"

Susan shook her head helplessly. The situation was far beyond her. She

faltered out:

"Your orders, Joe. The child, you said, was to be brought up like a

little princess."

He stared at her, dimly perceiving that his Susan could not be described

truthfully as standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"They tell me," he observed derisively, "that our royal Princesses have

to learn such things as cookin' and washin', because revolutions do

happen sometimes."

Susan shrugged her shoulders.

For the first time Quinney turned directly to James. The young man

confronted his employer with a certain dignity not wasted upon Posy. He

seemed to be quite ready to vindicate himself, when the opportunity

came.

"Intentions honourable?" demanded the infuriated father.

"They are, sir."

"Arranged the weddin'-day yet?"

"Not yet."

"Waitin', maybe, for father's blessing and a snug settlement?"

James only smiled deprecatingly, but Posy exclaimed:

"And why not? Isn't it your duty to provide for me? It's your fault,

not mine, that I can't cook, or wash, or sew."

"What a sauce!" said Quinney, lifting his congested eyes to heaven.

"Mother, you go and stand between 'em."

Susan obeyed, muttering to herself and shaking her head. She placed a

trembling hand upon Posy's sleeve. Posy saw the tears and kissed her.

Quinney continued more fluently, speaking with deliberation, for he had

rehearsed carefully this part of the scene.

"Now, Miss Impudence, ain't I been a good father to you? No quibblin'!

Ain't I been a tip-top parent to you?"

"I don't quite know."

"What you say?"

"I said I didn't quite know."

"Well, I'm fairly jiggered! Ain't I given' you everything a girl

wants?"

Posy remained silent. Can we describe Quinney's astonishment and

dismay, when Susan said curtly and clearly:

"Indeed you haven't."

Posy added, hesitatingly:

"I have wanted things you didn't give me."

"Of all the shameless hussies! Now, you answer straight. It'd take a

month o' Sundays to tell you what I have given you, but you tell me what

I've not given."

Susan answered with a promptitude indicating previous consideration of

the question.

"Be fair, Joe! You've not given the child your confidence or your

sympathy. You don't know what books she reads; you don't know anything

about her except what's on the surface."

"Hark to this!"

"You heard her say just now, when we was behind the screen, that she

didn't know whether you loved her. That's something a girl ought to

know, isn't it?"

"Go it! Love her? Love my daughter? You know that I love her."

"As she said, this is going to be a test of that."

"See here, Susan! Are you on my side or on hers?"

"I'm trying to stand between you, Joe--trying hard to keep the peace,

and--and to be just."

"Just? You dare to hint that I don't love my child?"

Very slowly, Susan answered him. What it cost the faithful soul to

speak the truth, as she conceived it to be, no male scribe can set

forth. To her his question embodied the hopes and fears of all her

married life, what she had suppressed so valiantly, so successfully,

that he had never been vouchsafed a glimpse of her tormented

sensibilities. To her this was the supreme moment when she must speak

plainly, or for ever hold her peace.

"You love old furniture, Joe, old china, tapestries, and lacquer

cabinets. You love them too well, dear. They have crept between you and

Posy, between you--and me."

The dreariness of her voice smote her husband. Had they been alone, he

would have melted; but James was present--James, whom he despised,

James, whom he knew to be unworthy. Unable to deal adequately with

Susan's pathetic indictment, he turned savagely on the young man.

"And you--don't you love old furniture, old china?" He made a

passionate gesture, including within a sweep of his arm all the

treasures about him. He continued: "Answer me! Don't you love things

worth their weight in gold?"

"They interest me, of course. I don't love them."

"Never entered your overcrowded mind, did it, that when closing-time

came for me these things would belong to my only child--hey?"

"It may have entered my mind, sir, but I didn't fall in love with Posy

because she was your daughter."

"Ho! Tell me, how do you propose to support this young lady after I've

given you the sack?"

"For that matter, Mr. Tomlin wants me. You pay me four pounds a week.

I'm worth ten to any big dealer."

"'Ark to Mister Pride-before-the-Fall!"

Rage now possessed him. He had promised himself that he would keep his

temper, and deal drastically but calmly with a clever knave and a pretty

noodle. But Susan's attitude had blown to the wind such excellent

resolutions. Perhaps the dominant idea in his mind was to get Susan

alone, to vindicate himself in her eyes. He believed honestly that this

abominable affair had distracted her poor wits. Obviously, the first

step towards an understanding with Susan was the settlement of this

preposterous James Miggott. He nerved himself for a knock-out blow. In

James's eyes, set a thought too close together, he fancied that he read

derision and defiance. He heard James's quiet voice:

"I am quite able to support a wife."

"Are you? Does that mean, my lad, that you're ready to marry her

against my wish, without my consent?"

"I counted on your consent, sir."

"You answer my question. You're in love with Posy for herself--hey?

You'd take her as she stands?"

James answered firmly but respectfully:

"Yes."

Poor Quinney! He had expected hesitation, a craven retreat from a false

position, glib expostulation--any reply except this stark "Yes." The

blow stunned him. He heard Posy's joyful voice:

"Oh, Jim, you are a darling! I was never quite--quite sure till this

blessed minute!"

The little man boiled over. He was almost ripe for personal violence.

Fortunately, the sense that a man must not fight with his fists in the

presence of ladies made him thrust his hands into his pockets. The other

convention concerning the use of strong language was honoured in the

breach!

"Damn you!" he spluttered. "If you want her, take her--now."

*CHAPTER XX*

*BLACKMAIL*

*I*

The bolt fell from the blue with shattering effect upon Posy and James.

Susan, however, with that instinct which makes a woman grab at her

petticoats when she is tumbling over a precipice, exclaimed shrilly:

"Joe! He can't take her without her stockings!"

"That's his affair," said Quinney.

His shrewd eye had marked a collapse on the part of James. He felt

reasonably assured that the young man was bluffing; he knew that this

"downy cove" wanted a wife with more than stockings, no matter how

pretty her bare feet might be. Fortified by this conclusion, he, so to

speak, fixed bayonets and charged. Unfortunately, he did not take

Susan's character into account, which a husband so acute should have

done. He was well aware that his wife, with all her shining qualities,

was obstinate and emotional. More, he had never regarded her as a

mother, although that significant name crossed his lips a hundred times

each day. Susan was his wife.

When he charged, head down, seeing "red," intent only upon "downing" the

clever knave and the foolish virgin, Susan interposed, metaphorically,

her soft body.

"Joe, you ain't serious? You ain't turning our child out of our house

at midnight?"

We must admit that Quinney was not serious, but for the moment he was in

no condition to think soberly. He replied fiercely:

"I'm turning out a--adder!"

Susan faced him. He had lost his head; she lost hers.

"If you do this----" she gasped.

"Go on!"

"If you do this unnatural, cruel, wicked----"

"That's right. Hit a man when he's down!"

"Down!" she retorted, as fiercely as he; "it's up you are, Joe Quinney,

tens o' thousands o' feet above all common sense and common decency. It

is things you care for--things--things--things! And our Posy--my Posy,

bless her!--is right to prefer persons to the graven images, the false

gods, which you've set up and worshipped--yes, worshipped! There's only

one person in all the world you care for, and that's

yourself--yourself!"

She flung herself into a chair in a paroxysm of grief and distress,

covering her face with the hands which had worked so faithfully for a

husband changed beyond recognition. Posy flew to her.

"Darling mother!"

Quinney pushed the girl aside.

"All your fault, you baggage! Susan! Susan!"

Susan sobbed inarticulately. Quinney shook her, speaking loudly, but

not unkindly, confounded in his turn by an indictment which he hardly

understood.

"Stop it, old dear, stop it! I care about you. Susie--I do, indeed!

Worked for you, I have, made a perfect lady of yer! Couldn't get along

without you, no how! And you know it! Darby and Joan--what? Oh, bung

it! Gawd bless me soul! you'll melt away like, if you ain't careful.

Sue, s'elp me, you come first."

She lifted her head with disconcerting suddenness.

"Do I? Sure?"

He seized her hand, and pressed it.

"Why, of course. Nice old cup of tea, you are, to doubt that!"

"You'd miss me if I went?"

The sharp interrogation ought to have given him pause.

Perhaps he had always underrated Susan's subtlety. The most foolish

mothers can be subtle as the serpent when the happiness of their

children is at stake.

"Miss you? Haven't I said time and again that I hoped as I'd be taken

first?"

She sat up alert, strangely composed after this tempest of emotion.

"Oh yes, you've said so----"

He was far too excited to perceive that she was leading him into a trap

cunningly contrived.

"Meant it, too! Man o' my word, I am!"

Susan stood up.

"Man of your word," she repeated ironically. "Tell me you was joking

when you threatened to turn young Posy into the street?"

His mouth opened, his eyes protruded, as if he were a victim of that

rare malady known as Graves's disease. Had his Susan plotted and

planned to trip him up? Was she a superlative actress? He moistened

his parched lips with his tongue, measuring his will against hers, sorry

for her, but sorrier still for himself. Then he said more calmly:

"Young Posy needn't leave us unless she wants to. I'll keep on James.

I'll sweeten his salary again to please you, but our child ain't for the

likes of him. He's no class."

Posy interrupted, with a toss of her head.

"James is good enough class for a child of yours."

Quinney curbed an angry retort. His temper was at last under control.

He said quietly:

"It comes to this, Posy. You've got to choose between James Miggott and

us. Now, not another word. You scoot off to bed. We'll talk of this

again to-morrow."

"I shall choose Jim to-morrow."

Then Susan fired the decisive shot. Nobody will ever know whether she

meant it. She had been tried too high. Doubtless the spirit of bluff

was hovering in the sanctuary, playing pranks now with this victim, and

now with that.

"If you drive Posy out of this house, Joe, I shall go with her. If she

never returns to it, I shall never return to it."

Quinney wiped his forehead, as he ejaculated:

"The pore soul's gone potty!"

Susan continued:

"I was ever so happy when we went to live in the Dream Cottage; I have

been very unhappy in this big house filled with things which you love

more than me."

"Unhappy--here? Lordy! You'll complain of the Better Land when you get

there!"

James spoke. So far he had kept his powder dry and his head cool.

"May I suggest----"

"What?"

"A compromise, sir. You have always impressed me with the wisdom of

doing nothing rashly."

"Pity you couldn't profit by such advice, Mr. Marry-in-Haste."

"I've been courting Posy for more than three months."

"You've the rest of your life to regret it."

James hesitated, trying to determine the right policy to pursue. Then

he said firmly:

"There are one or two matters to talk over, sir, before we part

company."

"Meaning, my lad?"

"Matters we had better discuss quietly, and--alone."

"Ho! Hear that, Susan? He's not quite in such a hurry to take the

young lady without her stockin's. Very good! You pop off to bed, my

girl. Susan, you go with her. I'll see you later."

Posy glanced at James, who nodded.

"Good-night, Jim!"

"Good-night, my darling!"

"Tchah!" muttered Quinney. For the third time in his life the

remembrance of the Channel crossing vividly presented itself. He felt

deadly sick!

*II*

As mother and daughter retired, Quinney exclaimed, more to himself than

to James:

"When I think of what I've done for them two thankless females!"

"What have you done?" asked James.

"Slaved for 'em for twenty years! Sweated blood, I have! Thanks to me,

they've lived in cotton-wool, able to take it easy all the time. Enough

o' that! What you got to say to me--alone? Hey?"

"Can't you guess? Didn't you overhear just now what I said to Posy? I

told her that I thought I could deal with you, and that the time had

come to do it."

"Deal away, my lad. Pull the cards out o' yer sleeve. Lay 'em on the

table."

"My cards, sir, are chairs."

"Chairs? You gone potty, too?"

"Chairs. The chairs which Mr. Tomlin bought for fifty pounds; the

chairs which I 'restored'; the chairs which were done up with old

needlework covers taken from other chairs; the chairs which you put up

at Christopher's and bought in after spirited bidding--faked

bidding--for nine hundred pounds; the chairs which you sold to Mr.

Hunsaker this morning for eleven hundred; the chairs which you ordered

me to pack at once. Nice little tale to tell Mr. Hunsaker, when he

calls to-morrow! Nice little bit of 'copy' for the newspapers."

We know that this young fellow rehearsed his speeches. He had rehearsed

this. It flowed smoothly from his lips.

"Blackmail!" gasped Quinney.

"I prefer to call it a weapon, sir, which you are forcing me, sorely

against my will, to use."

"This puts the lid on."

"Yes, it does."

"I understand. It's my daughter against your silence, hey? Hold hard!

Does she know of this?"

"No. Don't you remember? She asked for information, which I withheld

out of respect for you and her. Posy believes you to be scrupulously

honest."

"I'm damned!"

"I fear that you will be, if this story becomes public."

"My Posy against your silence. My Posy against my reputation. My Posy

against my wife!"

He was profoundly moved. James perceived this, and proceeded to follow

up his advantage. His tactics, admittedly, were intelligently conceived

and carried out. His error--a fundamental one--lay in his ignorance of

Quinney's character. Like Susan, who had been carried away by her

maternal emotions; like Posy, who was still in her salad days, he had

taken for granted that Quinney did prefer things to persons.

"May I put my case this way, sir? As your prospective son-in-law,

working hard in and for your interest, do I not present serious claims

upon your attention?"

Quinney stared at him. This was, indeed, a "plant," skilfully prepared

by a rascal and fortune-hunter. He said roughly:

"Cut that prospective son-in-law cackle! As yourself, my lad, you do

present very serious claims indeed upon my attention."

"Have it as you please, Mr. Quinney."

"That's exactly how I mean to have it."

"What have you against me, sir?"

Quinney had been pacing the room restlessly. He stopped suddenly,

opposite James, within two feet of his pale face.

"You ain't honest; you ain't straight; you ain't fit to marry an honest

girl!"

James raised his eyebrows.

"Isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Yes, it is. We're both pots--dirty pots. How dirty I someway never

saw till to-night. But my Posy is porcelain--clean, dainty porcelain.

You can't touch her without defilin' her. Now--scoot!"

"Without settling anything?"

"You shall be settled to-morrow. Don't worry."

The young man smiled.

"You are wise, sir, to take a night to sleep over it."

"Done talkin'?"

"For to-night, yes."

"Good! Because with every extra word you're givin' yourself dead away.

Easier to marry money than to make it, hey? Kennel up, you puppy!"

The puppy snarled at this, but withdrew.

*III*

Alone, Quinney opened the cupboard beneath the china cabinet, taking

from it a cut-glass decanter half-filled with brown sherry, and two

glasses, which he placed upon his desk. Then he summoned Susan. She

drifted in rather helplessly, somewhat of a wreck after the storm.

Quinney ensconced her in a chair, filled the two glasses with wine, and

pushed one across the desk to Susan. She shook her head.

"Drink it, you old spoof-sticks! Lordy, Sue, I didn't know you had it

in yer! What a spirit! What a little tigress!"

He tossed off his glass, smacking his lips.

"I meant it, Joe."

"Tch! tch! In two sticks you'll have my pore leg pulled out of shape."

"I meant it, every word of it."

"What? You'd leave the best and kindest hubby in the world?"

"I'd leave a crool, heartless father."

For answer, Quinney seized his empty glass and slammed it down upon the

desk, smashing it riotously. Susan said in the same weak, obstinate

tone: "Do that to her dear heart, you would." He snatched at the full

glass, and hurled that to the floor. Susan merely observed: "Another

two shillings gone!"

"Two shillings? Ten! Old Bristol! Lovely stuff!"

"There you go again."

"Ho! You really think I care about money?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, I don't. You say I care about things. So I do. But things have

been a means to an end with me. Never mind that now. If you don't know

yer luck in havin' Joe Quinney for a husband, he's too busy a man to

learn ye. I want to talk about something else. This James Miggott's a

bad lad. He's threatening me."

The word challenged Susan's attention.

"Threatening you, Joe? What about?"

Quinney's high colour deepened. Susan had cornered him. His voice

became less masterful.

"Never you mind what about! He ain't goin' to down me that way."

Susan glanced sharply at her husband. He tried to meet her honest eyes,

but failed. The impulse surged within him to confess, to ask

forgiveness, to promise to run straight for the future. The horns of

the dilemma pierced his vitals. How could he expose James without

revealing himself stark naked to the wife whose good opinion was dearer

to him than all the treasures in his sanctuary? She beheld him

squirming, and hastened to draw the wrong conclusion. James, of

course--gallant youth--had threatened to take Posy without her

stockings. She said tartly:

"James is fighting for our Posy."

"No, he ain't. He's fighting--and hittin' below the belt, too--for

things. These things."

"I don't believe it."

"Right! You can believe this, I shall fight to a finish. No

quarter--see?"

"Very well. Good-night!"

She rose, whey-faced, but resolute.

"What d'ye mean by 'good-night'?"

"I'm going to sleep with Posy."

"You ain't?"

"Yes, I am!"

She went out slowly, not closing the door. Quinney listened to her

familiar steps as she mounted the oak stairs. She ascended higher and

higher till she reached Posy's room. Quinney heard the door shut, and

then--significant sound--the click of a turning key.

He appeared confounded.

*CHAPTER XXI*

*MABEL DREDGE*

*I*

Quinney telephoned early the next morning to Tom Tomlin, asking him to

come to Soho Square before ten. Posy did not descend to breakfast, and

during that meal Susan preserved an obstinate silence. Quinney gobbled

up his bacon, drank three cups of tea, and hurried to the sanctuary,

where a pile of letters left unanswered the day before awaited him.

Mabel Dredge, notebook in hand, greeted him perfunctorily. Quinney,

lacerated by his own anxieties, noted a dreary tone in the girl's voice.

Many excellent persons never recognize trouble in others till they are

suffering from trouble of their own. Of such was our hero. He had

passed a wretched night, and, as he shaved, was constrained to perceive

its ravages upon his face. Upon Mabel's face, also, he seemed to catch

a glimpse of faint lines and shadows, as if the spider Insomnia had

woven a web across it.

"Anything wrong?" he inquired.

"Nothing," replied Mabel tartly.

He sat down at his desk, glancing at the morning's letters, arranged by

Mabel in a neat little pile. The topmost letter contained Hunsaker's

cheque for eleven hundred pounds, and a few cordial lines reminding his

dear sir that he hoped to call at eleven, and that he might bring a

friend with him, an expert of Chippendale furniture. Quinney frowned,

resenting the introduction of an expert. But he reflected comfortably

that the chairs were already cased. He opened the other letters, and

then began to deal faithfully with each correspondent in turn. He

dictated these letters after his own fashion. It was Mabel's task to

adjust grammatical errors and to eliminate slang. He had grown fond of

Mabel because she was competent and tactful.

"I think that will do, my dear."

Mabel rose quietly, shutting her notebook. She used a small room, where

she kept her machine and a copying-press and other paraphernalia

appertaining to secretarial duties. Unconsciously, she sighed.

"Lookin' peaky, you are," said her employer.

Mabel retorted indifferently:

"Weather affects me. Seems even to have affected you, sir."

"Ho! Observant young miss! But you're wrong. Weather don't affect me;

and it oughtn't to affect a healthy young woman like you. Sleep badly?"

"Ye-es."

"Same here."

The need of sympathy gripped him. He was so sorry for himself that he

felt sorry for this white-faced typist, whom hitherto he had regarded as

a machine.

"Beastly, ain't it?" She nodded, and he continued, speaking rather to

himself than to her: "To toss about, tinglin' all over, with one's

thoughts in a ferment! Perfectly disgustin'!"

Mabel smiled faintly.

"I've a lot on my mind just now," he went on, "a bigger load than I care

to carry--immense responsibilities, see?"

She opened her eyes, wondering what had evoked this amazing confidence,

little guessing that the habit of years was behind it. He had always

talked to Susan about his affairs, poured them into ears now deaf in the

hour of sorest need.

"Sit down," he commanded. "There's no hurry. I'm expecting Mr. Tomlin."

"I beg your pardon; I forgot to mention it. I have a message from Mr.

Miggott. His respects, and he wants to see you if you can spare a few

minutes."

"Ho! Well, I can't see him yet. He must wait my convenience. Sit you

down!"

Mabel obeyed, blushing slightly, because Quinney's eyes were so

piercing. She was quite unaware that she had betrayed herself in the

pronunciation of a name. At no other time, probably, would Quinney have

leapt to the conclusion that James was behind her trouble as certainly

as he was behind his own. He hated James. It hurt him to hear his name

softly murmured.

"Any of your people ill, my dear?"

"No."

"Not in debt, are you?"

"Certainly not."

"Not sufferin' from neuralgia, or toothache, or anything of that sort?"

"I am in excellent health, sir."

"Then, my girl, you're in love."

Her confusion answered him. She was angry, indignant, scornful; but she

could not prevent the red blood rushing into her cheeks. She retorted

sharply:

"That's none of your business, sir!"

Quinney chuckled. A ray of light flashed across his dark horizon.

"Don't be too sure o' that, my dear. Perhaps it is my business; anyway,

I'm going to make it my business, because I take a fatherly interest in

you."

"I can manage my own affairs, Mr. Quinney."

"No, you can't. Look ye here. I'm a wonderful guesser--always was.

You like James Miggott. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I'll be bound

he likes you!"

Mabel fidgeted. Quinney's voice was kind. It rang true. The desire to

confide in this odd little man, so masterful, so persuasive when he

chose, grew as swiftly as Jack the Giant Killer's beanstalk.

"Doesn't he like you?" he asked insistently.

"He used to like me," she answered mournfully.

"Ah! Now, Mabel, there are just as good fish in the sea as ever came

out of it."

"And what time have I to catch fish?"

"S'pose you was my daughter, I shouldn't like you to marry James. This

is on the strict Q.T., just between me and you, James was a faker of old

furniture till he came to me."

"He's no better, I dare say, and no worse, than other men in his trade!"

"Tch! tch! He's lucky to have a nice girl to stick up for him. Now, my

dear"--his voice became very soft and confidential--"you say that James

used to like you. Why has he cooled off, hey?"

She answered miserably:

"I don't know."

"Cheer up! Maybe I can help you. Lordy! Don't cry! Answer me

this--straight. Do you still want him?"

"Ye-es."

It was a doleful, long-drawn-out monosyllable, eloquent of much left

unsaid. Quinney nodded sympathetically, although his small eyes were

sparkling.

"At one time, I take it, you thought he was yours?"

She was too overcome to utter a word.

"Do you believe that he likes somebody else?" He paused, waiting for an

answer. She twisted her fingers, refused to meet his eyes, moved

restlessly. He went on, playing upon her emotions:

"Do you know who that somebody is? Come, be square with me, my dear.

Is it a young lady who shall remain nameless--a young lady lately

returned from school; a young lady whom James Miggott will never

marry--never?"

His suppressed excitement communicated itself to her. She was clever

enough to understand exactly what he wished to convey. She glanced up

and nodded. Quinney drew in his breath sharply; his manner changed.

"And you still want him?"

"Yes."

"Queer creatures you women are, to be sure!"

"We can't pick and choose like men."

"If you want him, you shall have him."

She shook her head dubiously.

"You don't know James, sir."

"Ho! Don't I? Better than you know him, better than he knows himself.

I'll help you, my girl, but you must help me."

"How?"

He got up and stood beside her. She watched him with a certain

fascination, curiously sensible of his power over her and others. The

native confidence that he had in himself percolated slowly through her.

"Tell me truly what has passed between you and this young man."

She was expecting any question except this. The audacity of it

overwhelmed her, as he had foreseen that it would. She broke down,

sobbing bitterly, hiding her face from the keen eyes looking down into

her very soul. Quinney laid his hand upon her head tenderly. For the

moment this strangely-assorted pair, linked together by an interest

common to each, yet antagonistic to each, stood together upon a plane

high above that on which they moved habitually.

"I ain't no saint," said Quinney solemnly. "And I tell you this, Mabel

Dredge, I've been through hell during the past twelve hours; and I'm not

out of it yet. Stand up, you poor dear! Look me in the face, for then

you'll know that you can trust me. Give me your hand--so! It's a nice

little hand. Ought there to be a wedding-ring on it?"

"Yes," she whispered.

*II*

Susan came in shortly after Mabel had gone. Her face was very troubled,

but obstinacy sat enthroned upon a head carried at a higher angle than

usual. Quinney said facetiously:

"Come to throw yourself at my feet and ask forgiveness?"

"Certainly not."

"Meant all you said last night?"

"Every word of it."

"What is Posy doing?"

"Crying her eyes out, I dare say."

"Sounds sloppy."

"Mr. Tomlin is here. Hateful man! I suppose he'll side with you!"

"That remains to be seen. I doubt it. Ask Tom to step up."

Susan went out with dignity.

Tomlin had been to a banquet the night before, and bore the signs of

intemperance in eating and drinking upon his large mottled face. He

greeted Quinney sulkily, unable to purge his mind of the conviction that

Soho Square ought to come to Bond Street. He asked thickly:

"Ever suffer from indigestion?"

"Never."

"I do," said Tomlin gloomily. He added with finality: "Port, even the

best, atop o' bubbly wine is a mistake after fifty. What you want me

for, young Joe?"

"Glad I look young, Tom. I don't feel it this morning."

Tomlin stared at him.

"Blest if you ain't made a night of it, too."

"Here's something to cheer us up."

He pushed across the desk Hunsaker's cheque for eleven hundred pounds.

Tomlin's heavy features relaxed into a smile. Quinney scribbled some

figures on a memorandum pad, and invited his colleague to verify them.

The sum represented the exact amount due to Tomlin as his share of the

plunder.

"Quite O.K., Joe."

"Like your bit o' ready now?"

"Never refuse cash, my lad."

Quinney wrote out a cheque, and a receipt. Tomlin accepted the cheque,

placing it in a bulky pocket-book. He glared askance at the receipt,

which set forth that the sum just paid was a commission upon the sale of

eight chairs to Cyrus P. Hunsaker, of Hunsaker.

"Why this receipt, Joe? Ain't a cheque a receipt?"

Quinney answered curtly:

"A cheque don't show what money is paid for. My way of doin' business."

"No complaints."

He chuckled fatly, raising his thick eyebrows when Quinney observed

lightly:

"What we done the day before yesterday was a leetle bit dangerous, old

man. Sailin' too near the reefs--um?"

Tomlin replied pompously:

"Skilled navigators, my lad, do sail near the reefs. I wouldn't assume

such risks with another man."

"But you did!"

"What do you mean, Joe?"

"James Miggott is in the know."

"Of course, but he's had his little bit."

"Yes; but he wants more!"

"The swine!" He stared at Quinney, beholding upon the whimsical face of

his pupil writing which he could not read. "What's up?" he spluttered.

"I am," said Quinney, rising; "and stripped for the fight of my life."

Tomlin stirred uneasily.

"A fight, Joe? Who with?"

Quinney answered fiercely:

"That dirty dog, James Miggott. He wants more than what we gave him.

See? He wants my Posy."

Tomlin exhibited marked relief.

"Your Posy? Don't blame him for wanting her."

"You hold hard! Young Posy wants him."

"Gawd bless my soul! She's not the judge o' quality he is."

"And Susan backs 'em up. That fairly tears it."

Tomlin looked puzzled, unable to account for the younger man's

excitement. He considered that Joe, unlike himself, was incapable of

managing his womenfolk.

"Between 'em, Tom, they've got a strangle hold on us."

"Us? What have I to do with your fam'ly matters?"

"I sent for you to tell you. Now, first and last, they'll never have my

consent, never! But, by thunder! I refuse my consent, not because the

dog's my servant, but because he isn't straight. He's no better than

you and me."

Tomlin glared at his former pupil, who stood over him, waving a

denunciatory hand.

"You speak for yourself, young man."

"I ain't young. We're both of us old enough to know better and do

better, but we've had to make our way. Maybe I've been honester than

you, maybe I haven't. I ain't whining, least of all to you. We're in a

deep hole of our own making. And we must get out of it. I told this

James Miggott last night that we was pots, just common pots, sailin'

down the stream with other pots. But my little Posy's porcelain, the

finest paste, the gem o' my collection. Susan accuses me of caring for

things, these things. So I do; so do you; that's why we've struggled to

the front. And this son of a gun loves things, and what they stand for.

He's after my things, but he's clever enough to have bluffed two

innercent females into believin' that he wants my Posy without 'em."

Tomlin blinked and nodded, stupefied by the terrific feeling displayed

by Quinney. His headache had come back, that humiliating sense of

"unfitness" which clouded his judgment, leaving him dazed and irritable.

Nor, as yet, had he grasped the situation, or measured the depth of the

hole to which Quinney alluded. The little man went on:

"I've called his bluff, if it is bluff. I've told him that he can take

Posy, march her out of this house as she is."

"What did he say to that?"

"I should have downed him, but, by Gum, the old lady butted in. Swore

solemn she'd leave my house, if I turned Posy out. She means it, too!"

"A good riddance," snarled Tomlin.

Quinney exploded, shaking his clenched fist in front of the huge, red

face.

"What? I'd have you to know, Tom Tomlin, that my Susan and me have

stuck together through thick and thin. I think the world of her, but

she's without guile, bless her, and as obstinate as Balaam's ass!"

"S'pose you tell me where I come in?"

"Here and now, by the back-door! This dirty dog threatens to down me

with the true story of them chairs. And he'll do it, too. Now, let

this soak in together with all that port and champagne you swallered

last night. If he downs me, he downs you! Got it?"

Assuredly Tomlin had "got it." He began to shake with impotent rage,

growling out:

"Threatens to split? I'd like to tell that young man exactly what I

think of him."

"You can," said Quinney derisively; "but it will do you more good than

him, I reckon. We'll send for him in a jiffy. Ever notice my typist

and stenographer, Miss Dredge?"

"Yes, many a time. Nice-lookin' gal."

"This maggot of a Miggott has been eatin' into her young affections,

see?"

"Has he? The young man has taste, Joe. Reg'lar lady-killer!"

Quinney lowered his voice:

"It's a weapon, but I don't rely on it. I can't use it, in fairness to

Mabel, till we stand in the last ditch."

"Why not? Got to think of ourselves, ain't we?"

Tomlin pulled out an immense silk bandana, and mopped a heated brow.

"It's two-edged, Tom. You ain't yourself this morning, or you'd see,

with your knowledge of the fair sex, that Posy might be keener on

gettin' this scamp, if she learned that another woman was after him.

We'll try to handle Master Miggott first."

He crossed to the speaking-tube, and summoned James to the sanctuary.

Then he sat down, very erect and austere, at his desk.

*III*

Presently James entered, carrying his head at the angle affected by

Susan, looking very bland and self-confident.

"Good-morning, Mr. Tomlin! Good-morning, Mr. Quinney!"

Quinney acknowledged this salutation with a derisive grin.

"Mornin', Mr. Chesty! Bin usin' a Sandow's exerciser?"

"No, sir; Indian clubs. Am I to state my case before Mr. Tomlin?"

"Yes. Go ahead and state it. Don't waste my time, or his, or your

own."

James addressed himself suavely to Tomlin, selecting his words

carefully, speaking slowly, with the utmost respect.

"Last night, Mr. Quinney threatened to turn his daughter into the

street, because she's engaged to be married to me."

"My hand was forced, my lad. Go on."

"I can support a wife, and Miss Quinney is ready to marry me by special

licence this afternoon."

"Quite sure o' that?"

"Ab--solutely. Unhappily, I'm not yet in a financial position to

support two ladies."

"Two ladies?" echoed Quinney, thinking of Mabel Dredge.

"I allude, sir, to Mrs. Quinney. She insists upon leaving you, if her

child is turned out. That rather complicates matters."

"It does," said Quinney grimly.

"Under these circumstances, gentlemen, I feel justified in bringing

pressure to bear. Mr. Hunsaker, who bought certain chairs yesterday,

will call again this morning. He is naturally interested in the history

of the chairs; and he might make trouble if he knew all the facts about

them as known to you, Mr. Tomlin, to Mr. Quinney, and to me. I may add

that my responsibility in the affair is negligible."

"Slick talker," muttered Quinney. He could see that Tomlin was much

impressed by James's manner. The big fellow grunted uneasily:

"What do you propose?"

"A compromise, Mr. Tomlin."

Quinney lost something of his dignity, when he jerked out:

"He's compromised my Posy, and many another pore girl, I'll be bound!"

"Pardon me, sir. That sort of talk before a witness is libellous."

The last rag of Quinney's dignity fluttered away.

"I'll down you, my lad; yes, I will!"

"Self-preservation being the first law, sir, I must--sorely against the

grain--down you first. Excuse plain speaking."

Quinney jumped up.

"I like plain speaking! I was weaned on it, short-coated on it! By

Gum! my father damned me before I was born!"

"Easy all," murmured Tomlin nervously. He addressed James with a

civility which the young man acknowledged with a faint smile. "Do I

understand that you threaten to down your master because he refuses to

sanction an engagement between you and his daughter?"

James shrugged his shoulders.

"It's a case of 'pull, devil--pull, baker!' I mean to pull for all I'm

worth."

Quinney interrupted furiously:

"And what are you worth, Lord Rothschild?"

Tomlin held up a large hand, not too clean, upon which sparkled a

diamond ring.

"You spoke of compromise, James?"

"Yes, sir. I suggest that my engagement to Miss Quinney should be

sanctioned and recognized. I will stay on here, and demonstrate to Mr.

Quinney my claims to be taken on later as a junior partner. Unless Miss

Quinney of her own will cancels the engagement, the marriage will take

place----"

"Never!" shouted Quinney.

James smiled deprecatingly.

"Shall I retire, gentlemen? You have time to talk things over. Mr.

Hunsaker will not be here for another hour yet."

Tomlin nodded portentously:

"Yes, yes; leave us."

*IV*

Tomlin was the first to break an ominous silence:

"The long and short of it is, Joe, that this young feller can ruin us,

rob us of our hard-earned reputations. We must square him."

"Money? He wants money and Posy!"

Tomlin stroked his chin pensively. It occurred to him that so sharp a

practitioner as James Miggott would never come to grief. As a suitor

for one of his three daughters, he would not consider him too rashly as

ineligible.

"Posy might do worse," he muttered.

"Ho! That's it. Sidin' with them? Thought you might!"

"Face the music, Joe! We're hanged, high as Haman, unless the ladies

come to the rescue. It's a bit thick his threatenin' you. How does

Posy take that--um?"

"How can I tell her what he's threatening to do? James knows that, the

dog!"

"You can hint at unpleasantness. Posy ought to know that her young man

is buckin' about ruining you."

"Maybe you'd like to talk to Susan and Posy?"

"I should. I understand women; you don't."

"You shall talk to 'em."

He hurried to the door, and through it on to the landing.

"Susan!--Su--san!"

Susan's voice was heard descending from above:

"Is that you calling, Joe?"

"Who did yer think it was? The Archbishop o' Canterbury or the First

Lord of the Admiralty? Come you down quick, and bring Posy with you."

He stumped back into the sanctuary to confront Tomlin's scornful face.

"That the way you talk to an angry woman? Had any words with Mrs.

Quinney this morning?"

"I've been talking to her and at her, off and on, ever since breakfast."

"Pore, dear soul!" ejaculated Tomlin.

*CHAPTER XXII*

*A TEST*

*I*

Posy may have been crying, but the colour and sparkle remained in her

eyes; and she had arrayed herself in a smart and becoming costume, which

Quinney recognized as "Sunday best." Let women decide what motive

animated this preening. If she were to be turned out of Soho Square,

Posy, not unreasonably, may have decided to take her prettiest frock

with her. On the other hand, with equal wisdom, she may have thought

that the sight of a charming young woman in all her bravery is likely to

melt the heart of the sternest man. Because she appeared on this

momentous morning fresh and alluring, let us not accuse her of

heartlessness. If destined by Fate to lose a father, she would gain a

husband. Poor Susan, limp and bedraggled, was miserably sensible that

victory for her would inflict consequences more crushing than defeat.

"Goin' to church?" Quinney inquired of his daughter.

Posy replied respectfully:

"Only if driven there by you."

Tomlin, rumbling and grumbling after his dietical indiscretions, greeted

the young lady with a phrase often on his lips:

"Seasonable weather for the time of year?"

Susan glanced at him scornfully, and said audibly:

"Fiddle!"

Quinney apologized for this breach of politeness after his own fashion:

"Be'ind the door, she was, Tom, when they collected threepence a head

for manners. Now, sit you down!"

Tomlin waved a half-consumed cigar, addressing Susan:

"Any objections to my smoking, ma'am?"

"Not she," replied her husband, "neither in this world nor the next.

You go on and talk to her. You understand women. Open fire on 'em!"

"May I say a few words, ma'am?"

"Provided they are few, you may, Mr. Tomlin."

Driven to the wall, she made no effort to conceal her dislike of this

big fat man, whom she had ever regarded as an evil influence in her

Joe's life. Quinney exclaimed:

"'Ark to Mrs. Don't-care-a-damn!"

Tomlin raised a protesting finger.

"Tut, tut, Joe. You leave this to me."

He continued majestically, picking his words:

"I don't think you can be aware, ma'am, that James Miggott is

threatening your husband, and"--he turned to Posy--"your dear father."

Susan snapped out:

"Joe told me as much last night. I know well what James is threatening.

He's not the only man of his word in this house. He's threatening to

take the girl he loves as she is. He's not thinking of anything else.

He's made it plain that he's only to hold up his finger, and Posy'll go

to him gladly."

"Just what I told you, Tom," remarked Quinney.

"You're under a misapprehension, ma'am. Miggott is threatening us--me

and Joe."

At this Posy became more alert, listening attentively to Tomlin, but

keeping her clear eyes upon her sire. Susan betrayed astonishment.

"Threatening you, Mr. Tomlin? Why should he threaten you, and why

should you care tuppence whether he threatens you or not?"

Very deprecatingly, Tomlin spread out his large hands, palm uppermost,

as if he wished the ladies to infer that he came empty-handed into a

fight not of his seeking.

"I repeat, ma'am, he's threatening us. He's talking of trying to ruin

us."

"Talkin' through his hat," murmured Quinney.

Susan tossed her head impatiently.

"You'll have to speak more plainly, Mr. Tomlin, if you wish me to

understand what you're driving at."

Tomlin, cornered by Susan's direct methods in striking opposition to his

own, fetched a compass, and began again more warily:

"Is it possible that you contemplate leaving the most faithful husband

in the world, ma'am?"

Quinney chuckled, rubbing his hands.

"That's better. Now, Susie, you listen to Tom, if you won't listen to

me."

"I've listened patiently to you, Joe, for just twenty years. It's about

time I did a bit of talking, and that you did the listening."

"Ho! Been bottling things up, have you?" She nodded. "Then you uncork

yourself, old dear! But, before you begin, I'll try to impress this on

your female mind. This dirty dog of a James Miggott is threatening me

and Tom. He believes that he can injure our reputations in the trade.

See? Tom, here, thinks that he'll do it, if I refuse to surrender.

Well, I don't. That's where he and me differ. But, just as sure as the

Lord made little apples and small, mean souls, it's the solid truth that

this young man is tryin' to blackmail me! Now you have the text,

dearie. Get you up and preach a sermon on it. Posy, in her Sunday

clothes, will listen, and so will I. But bear in mind that you took me

for better or worse."

Tomlin added unctuously:

"And please remember, ma'am, that you have to consider me."

Susan eyed Tomlin with chill indifference. Her voice was almost

vitriolic, as she remarked:

"If I'm driven from house and home, Mr. Tomlin, 'tain't likely I shall

waste much time considering you!"

"Who's driving you, ma'am, from house and home?"

"My husband is, more shame to him!"

She collected her energies for a supreme effort, turning in her chair to

look at the tyrant.

"Blaze away!" said the tyrant.

"Joe"--her voice trembled in spite of a gallant effort to control

it--"you are forcing me to do the cruellest thing in all the world--to

choose between my own child and you. I ain't got your brains, but I've

something much better--a heart. Posy wants me, and you don't. Let me

finish. It's bitter aloes to me, but I swallow the gall of it for my

dear child's sake. You used to love me!"

"Used?"

"Between you and me, that's over and done with."

She spoke very mournfully, brushing a tear from her cheek.

"No, it ain't, Susie. Seemin'ly, what I've done to show my love for you

ain't enough. S'pose you tell me what more I might do?"

She answered swiftly:

"Give your consent to Posy marrying, as I did--marrying the man of her

choice. Have you anything against his moral character?"

"He's a wrong 'un; take that from me!"

"Not without proof. What's he done that's wrong? He don't muddle his

wits with food and drink. He don't use filthy tobacco. He attends

Divine Service."

"Ho! Poor in this world's goods, but a moral millionaire, hey?"

"It's hateful to hear you sneer at him!"

"You ask me to give my daughter to a dog that's trying to bite the hand

that fed him?"

"Posy might do worse," said Tomlin hoarsely.

"Now you've torn it!" said Quinney viciously. "I'm alone against the lot

of you. Good! I'll down the lot of you, I'll----"

Posy interrupted:

"Father!"

"Well, my girl?"

She spoke incisively, with something of his manner:

"You won't answer one important question. What is James threatening to

do to you and Mr. Tomlin?"

Poor Quinney! He had only to speak with entire frankness to win his

Susan back. But at what a cost! Could he roll in the dust of a

humiliating confession? Unconsciously he clenched his fists, setting his

firm jaw at an even more aggressive angle. In desperation he clutched

at a straw. If he must be dragged down from his high estate as the

honestest dealer in the world, let that iconoclastic deed be done by

another hand.

"Look ye here, my girl, suppose you ask James that question."

"I want to ask him," she replied calmly.

"Fine!" muttered Tomlin. "Yes, my dear, you ask him why he dares to

threaten your dear father."

"And you," said Posy.

"That's right. And me. More than one good tip he's had from me."

"Tips? Why should you tip him?"

"You can ask him. There's no time to waste."

"No time to waste?"

The situation had become tenser. Quinney perceived with a certain pride

that Posy was demonstrating the quality of brains inherited from him.

"Go to him," said Quinney. "He's in his room. We'll wait here."

She obeyed.

*II*

As soon as James saw Posy coming alone to him, he leapt triumphantly to

the conclusion that her father had hauled down his flag. With a joyous

exclamation he hastened to embrace her, but she turned a cool cheek to

ardent lips.

"Father sent me to you, Jim."

"I knew he'd climb down!"

"But he hasn't. Jim, dear, what do you mean by threatening father

and--and Mr. Tomlin?"

The eager smile faded out of his face. He remained silent, marshalling

his wits.

"Have you received tips from Mr. Tomlin?"

"He's paid me for work done."

"What sort of work?"

"Restoring old bits of stuff. What has that got to do with us?"

She followed her thoughts, not his questions.

"And why is there all this hurry? Mr. Tomlin said just now that there

was no time to waste."

"He's right; there isn't!"

"But why?"

Her voice was gently insistent. She laid her hand softly upon the

sleeve of his coat, as if entreating him to trust her, as she trusted

him.

"It's like this, Posy. I told you last night that I could deal with

your father, that the right moment had come to deal with him. Now, give

me a free hand!"

"Mr. Tomlin spoke, not very clearly, about your being able to ruin

father and him. Father denies that!"

"Does he?"

Posy grew nervous, the colour ebbed from her cheeks; into her eyes

flitted a shadow of fear. Her sharp wits were at work adding and

subtracting, fitting together this jig-saw puzzle.

At this moment, her memory answered oddly to the strain imposed upon it.

In this room, before the _coup de foudre_, her father had spoken roughly

to her, ordering her out of it with a peremptoriness apparently quite

unjustifiable, because she was on an errand connected with his business.

This tiny fact had rankled. James had asked her for a bottle of

cleaning fluid.

Suddenly, out of the pigeon-holes of her mind, tumbled the covers of the

chairs which James wanted to clean. The very pattern of the exquisite

needlework presented itself.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

"What's the matter, dearest? This excitement has been too much for you.

Do let me handle your father. Believe me, I can do it in our joint

interest."

She gazed at him queerly, a tiny, vertical line between her dark

eyebrows.

"Has father done something dishonest?"

The colour rushed back into her cheeks as she spoke, but her eyes

remained upon his. When he made no reply, she continued:

"Are you threatening to expose some fraud, a fraud connected

with--chairs?"

"God! You are clever!" said James, unable to hide his admiration, or to

believe that she had swooped upon the truth.

She sighed.

"Then it is true."

There was no interrogation in those four words.

"Well, yes; it is true." He hurried on, fearing that she might

interrupt him. "I wanted to spare you knowledge of that. Fortune has

placed in my hands a weapon. I am using it for both our sakes. Between

our two selves, my dearest, I can admit to you that I should not really

ruin your father. What an idea!"

"Then you are bluffing?"

"I am. I want you so desperately."

He attempted to kiss her, but she repulsed him gently.

"If mother knew----"

"She need not know. Your father will climb down at the last moment. He

knows, and Tomlin knows, that I can ruin both of them."

"It's as bad as that?"

"Yes. He must surrender!"

"But if he shouldn't? Jim, dear, you said last night that you would

take me as I am; and I loved you for saying that. Now, you want to

bargain for me."

"To bargain for you, darling; not for myself."

She nodded, accepting his explanation, able to put herself in his place.

Beholding the situation from his point of view, panoramically, she

tried, in turn, to see the same situation from the point of view of her

father. She exclaimed softly:

"Gracious!"

The expression upon her face puzzled James. Men, even the cleverest,

can follow women's bodies easier than their thoughts.

"Try to be sensible about this," he murmured.

"It's so exciting. Don't you see that this is a test of father, a

wonderful test!"

"Of what?"

"Of his love for me, of his love for mother."

"Eh?"

"Don't be dense, Jim! Mother has accused father of not caring much for

us; but, if he risks ruin for our sake, he does care."

"Pooh! He's bluffing, too!"

"I am not certain of that. Anyway"--her face cleared; she beamed at him

delightfully--"I should like you to make good, Jim, without horrid

threats, without bluffing. Take me as I am, if you want me. You can

earn a good living anywhere. I'm not afraid of a little poverty with

you."

"You don't know what poverty is, Posy. I do. I'm afraid of poverty for

the woman I care about."

"Do you mean that you refuse to take me as I am?"

Bathos and pathos are twins. James passed, with an unconsidered bound,

from climax to anticlimax. He said irritably:

"Hang it all! I shall have to take your mother, too. Posy, we haven't

time to argue this. Hunsaker will be here directly. Luck has thrust

into my hands a tremendous lever; and I mean to use it."

"Is that your last word?"

"Yes, it is. I'm fighting for you, fighting to a finish. And ever

since the world began, women have had to look on at such a fight----"

"And take the winner?"

She laughed derisively.

"I shall be the winner!"

"Come up and tell father so."

"Right!"

"Mother and I will look on."

*III*

They went upstairs in silence, to find Tomlin reading the paper, and

Susan engaged in dusting the china.

"Where's father?" asked Posy.

"Busy with Mabel Dredge. I'll fetch him."

Posy sat down. From her face it was impossible to divine what was

passing through her brain. She folded her hands upon her lap and

waited.

Quinney appeared, followed by Susan. He glared at James, and then fixed

his gaze upon Posy.

"Well, my girl?"

She said demurely:

"It's to be a fight to a finish for me."

"Damn!" said Tomlin.

Susan wandered to the window, staring aimlessly into the square. She

heard Tomlin saying hoarsely:

"Joe, you take my advice; let the girl have the man she wants. S'elp

me, if one o' my daughters took a shine to him, she should have him!

You're fairly downed, old man, and you know it. This Hunsaker will be

here before we can turn round!"

"He is here," said Susan, turning from the window.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

*THE RESULT*

*I*

Susan was somewhat astonished at the effect of her announcement upon

those present. She added, after a pause:

"A middle-aged gentleman is with him."

"Ho!" ejaculated Quinney. Evidently Hunsaker had brought the expert to

Soho Square. He said sharply to James:

"Go downstairs, and bring these gentlemen up here!"

James glanced at Posy, and then at Quinney.

"You mean that, sir?"

"Of course I mean it! Scoot!"

Tomlin's mottled countenance deepened in tint. He rose from his chair

and approached Quinney. James moved slowly towards the door, but he

heard Tomlin's hoarse whisper:

"Better give in, Joe."

Quinney answered loudly:

"Never!"

"We can't face the music, if he squeals."

"I can." He addressed the company generally, in a fierce voice: "You

mark what I say--all of you. I'd sooner be ruined, lock, stock, and

barrel, than give my daughter to that man!"

He pointed at James, whose self-possession was beginning to fail him.

"What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Do as I tell you. Ask Mr.

Hunsaker and his friend, with my compliments, to come here!"

James vanished silently, as Tomlin muttered:

"I'll retire."

Instantly Quinney interposed his small, sturdy figure between the big

dealer and the door.

"No, you don't, Tom Tomlin! Shoulder to shoulder with me, old man, till

the last shot is fired!"

"I wish I knew what it is all about," said Susan to Posy. In a louder

voice she addressed her husband:

"Maybe Posy and I had better leave you?"

"Please yourselves," said Quinney. His eyes were sparkling, and his

short, red hair bristled with excitement and the lust of battle.

"As they are fighting for me," said Posy, "I'll stay."

Susan observed in utter bewilderment:

"I've looked on all my life, and I can do it a little longer."

She turned to Posy, with the intention of asking for some sort of

explanation; but Posy had gone up to her father.

"Daddy!"

Quinney replied roughly:

"Too late to say you're sorry now, my girl!"

"But I'm not sorry. I'm ever so glad. Whether you are right or wrong

about Jim, it is everything--yes, everything--to me to know that you

really meant what you said just now."

She went back to her mother as Hunsaker's genial voice was heard coming

up the stairs:

"Yes, sir, a sanctuary; and not a thing in it for sale!"

*II*

The two visitors entered, followed by James. Tomlin gasped when he

beheld Hunsaker's companion, a celebrity known to all the great dealers

in two hemispheres. He was short, rather stout, and very quietly

dressed, with a fine head set upon rounded shoulders. The face was

heavy-featured and saturnine, the face of a man who had lived a

strenuous life, a fighter and a conqueror. Hunsaker pronounced his name

with pride:

"Mr. Quinney, this is Mr. Dupont Jordan."

"Glad to see you, Mr. Jordan," said Quinney. He waved his hand. "My

wife and daughter."

The famous collector bowed to the ladies, and nodded to Tomlin, who

murmured obsequiously:

"Mr. Jordan has honoured me with his patronage."

Hunsaker's voice rose jovially above the murmurs:

"Mr. Jordan is interested in my chairs. He wants to see 'em. What he

doesn't know about Chippendale furniture you could put into a

mustard-seed and hear it rattle."

"Dear me!" said Susan. "That's a pity. The chairs are cased, I

believe."

"Not all of them," said James. "One chair is still unpacked."

He stared boldly at Quinney, asking for a sign. Quinney rubbed his

hands.

"Good," said he. "Go and fetch the chair, James."

"Fetch it here, sir?"

"At once, my lad."

Tomlin began to shake. Of all men in the world, Dupont Jordan was least

to be desired at such a moment. Tomlin grew painfully moist and hot.

James left the room, slightly slamming the door, a slam that sounded to

Tomlin like the crack of doom. Hunsaker, meanwhile, had engaged the

ladies in talk. Jordan stood beside Quinney, silent, but looking with

interest at the incised lacquer screen. Quinney said to him quietly:

"Is it true, Mr. Jordan, that you bought the Pevensey chairs from Lark

and Bundy?"

"Quite true, Mr. Quinney. That is why I wish so particularly to see Mr.

Hunsaker's set, which I understand are like mine."