"Happy and honoured to see you, sir."
Presently, he took him upstairs into the drawing-room, already spoken of as the "sanctuary." In it were all his beloved treasures. He had done up the room "regardless." Here stood his Chippendale cabinet, filled with Early Worcester and Chelsea; here were his cherished prints in colour, his finest specimens of Waterford glass, two or three beautiful miniatures, and many other things. Pressland was astonished, but he said little, nodding his head from time to time, and listening attentively to Quinney. As soon as he entered the room he perceived the satin-wood commode standing in the place of honour.
Pressland praised the Chippendale cabinet, and ignored the commode. Quinney frowned. Finally he jerked out:
"What do you think of that, sir?"
"What?"
"That commode. Pedigree bit, out of an old Melshire manor house. Good stuff, hey?"
Pressland adjusted his pince-nez, and stared hard and long at the panels. Quinney began to fidget.
"Bit of all right—um?"
Pressland said slowly:
"I hope you didn't pay very much for it, Mr. Quinney."