"The greatest! Didn't he tell you so? I thought that was why I was allowed to come."
She hesitated. "Of course, you know, the tapestries are not for sale—"
"That so? I thought that was only his dodge to get me down. Well, I'm glad they ain't: it'll give us more time to talk."
Watch in hand, the dealer intervened. "If, nevertheless, you would first take a glance. Our train—"
"It ain't mine!" Moffatt interrupted; "at least not if there's a later one."
Undine's presence of mind had returned. "Of course there is," she said gaily. She led the way back into the gallery, half hoping the dealer would allege a pressing reason for departure. She was excited and amused at Moffatt's unexpected appearance, but humiliated that he should suspect her of being in financial straits. She never wanted to see Moffatt except when she was happy and triumphant.
The dealer had followed the other two into the gallery, and there was a moment's pause while they all stood silently before the tapestries. "By George!" Moffatt finally brought out.
"They're historical, you know: the King gave them to Raymond's great-great-grandfather. The other day when I was in Paris," Undine hurried on, "I asked Mr. Fleischhauer to come down some time and tell us what they're worth … and he seems to have misunderstood … to have thought we meant to sell them." She addressed herself more pointedly to the dealer. "I'm sorry you've had the trip for nothing."
Mr. Fleischhauer inclined himself eloquently. "It is not nothing to have seen such beauty."
Moffatt gave him a humorous look. "I'd hate to see Mr. Fleischhauer miss his train—"