Part 14 (2/2)

”Ah-h-h!” said Mrs. Fairmile, with a smiling shake of the head, ”how clever of you! But that's not a Fragonard. I wish it were. It's an unknown. Dr. Lelius has given him a name.”

And she and Lelius fell into a discussion of the drawing, that soon left Daphne behind. Native taste of the finest, mingled with the training of a lifetime, the intimate knowledge of collections of one who had lived among them from her childhood--these things had long since given Chloe Fairmile a kind of European reputation. Daphne stumbled after her, consumed with angry envy, the _precieuse_ in her resenting the easy mastery of Mrs. Fairmile, and the wife in her offended by the strange beauty, the soft audacities of a woman who had once, it seemed, held Roger captive, and would, of course, like to hold him captive again.

She burned in some way to a.s.sert herself, the imperious will chafing at the slender barrier of self-control. And some malicious G.o.d did, in fact, send an opportunity.

After tea, when Roger, in spite of efforts to confine himself to the d.u.c.h.ess, had been once more drawn into the orbit of Mrs. Fairmile, as she sat fingering a cigarette between the two men, and gossiping of people and politics, the butler entered, and whispered a message to the d.u.c.h.ess.

The mistress of the house laughed. ”Chloe! who do you think has called?

Old Marcus, of South Audley Street. He's been at Brendon House--buying up their Romneys, I should think. And as he was pa.s.sing here, he wished to show me something. Shall we have him in?”

”By all means! The last time he was here he offered you four thousand pounds for the blue Nattier,” said Chloe, with a smile, pointing to the picture.

The d.u.c.h.ess gave orders; and an elderly man, with long black hair, swarthy complexion, fine eyes, and a peaked forehead, was admitted, and greeted by her, Mrs. Fairmile, and Dr. Lelius as an old acquaintance. He sat down beside them, was given tea, and presented to Mr. and Mrs.

Barnes. Daphne, who knew the famous dealer by sight and reputation perfectly well, was piqued that he did not recognize her. Yet she well remembered having given him an important commission not more than a year before her marriage.

As soon as a cup of tea had been dispatched, Marcus came to the business. He drew a small leather case out of the bag he had brought into the room with him; and the case, being opened, disclosed a small but marvellous piece of Sevres.

”There!” he said, pointing triumphantly to a piece on the d.u.c.h.ess's chimney-piece. ”Your Grace asked me--oh! ten years ago--and again last year--to find you the pair of that. Now--you have it!”

He put the two together, and the effect was great. The d.u.c.h.ess looked at it with greed--the greed of the connoisseur. But she shook her head.

”Marcus, I have no money.”

”Oh!” He protested, smiling and shrugging his shoulders.

”And I know you want a brigand's price for it.”

”Oh, nothing--nothing at all.”

The d.u.c.h.ess took it up, and regretfully turned it round and round.

”A thousand, Marcus?” she said, looking up.

He laughed, and would not reply.

”That means more, Marcus: how do you imagine that an old woman like me, with only just enough for bread and b.u.t.ter, can waste her money on Sevres?” He grinned. She put it down resolutely. ”No! I've got a consumptive nephew with a consumptive family. He ought to have been hung for marrying, but I've got to send them all to Davos this winter. No, I can't, Marcus; I can't--I'm too poor.” But her eyes caressed the s.h.i.+ning thing.

Daphne bent forward. ”If the d.u.c.h.ess has _really_ made up her mind, Mr.

Marcus, I will take it. It would just suit me!”

Marcus started on his chair. ”_Pardon, Madame!_” he said, turning hastily to look at the slender lady in white, of whom he had as yet taken no notice.

”We have the motor. We can take it with us,” said Daphne, stretching out her hand for it triumphantly.

”Madame,” said Marcus, in some agitation, ”I have not the honour. The price----”

”The price doesn't matter,” said Daphne, smiling. ”You know me quite well, Mr. Marcus. Do you remember selling a Louis Seize cabinet to Miss Floyd?”

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