“I will. Our great-grandmothers used them, you know, to support their mirrors, or to fasten back their curtains,” he explained ardently. “Now here's another Battersea enamel, but it isn't so good as my new ones—that face is almost a caricature.”
“But what a beautiful ship—on that round one!” exclaimed Marie. “And what's this one?—glass?”
“Yes; but that's not so rare as the others. Still, it's pretty enough. Did you notice this one, with the bright red and blue and green on the white background?—regular Chinese mode of decoration, that is.”
“Er—any time, William,” began Bertram, mischievously; but William did not seem to hear.
“Now in this corner,” he went on, warming to his subject, “are the enamelled porcelains. They were probably made at the Worcester works—England, you know; and I think many of them are quite as pretty as the Batterseas. You see it was at Worcester that they invented that variation of the transfer printing process that they called bat printing, where they used oil instead of ink, and gelatine instead of paper. Now engravings for that kind of printing were usually in stipple work—dots, you know—so the prints on these knobs can easily be distinguished from those of the transfer printing. See? Now, this one is—”
“Er, of course, William, any time—” interposed Bertram again, his eyes twinkling.
William stopped with a laugh.
“Yes, I know. 'Tis time I talked of something else, Bertram,” he conceded.
“But 'twas lovely, and I was interested, really,” claimed Marie. “Besides, there are such a lot of things here that I'd like to see,” she finished, turning slowly about.
“These are what he was collecting last year,” murmured Billy, hovering over a small cabinet where were some beautiful specimens of antique jewelry brooches, necklaces, armlets, Rajah rings, and anklets, gorgeous in color and exquisite in workmanship.