Her friend exclaimed: "Are you going to buy it! That is to say, will Falconer buy it for you?"
"My dear soul—with his horse running to-morrow! At any rate, the bijou is already bought above my head. I went in yesterday to see what was the least they would take for it, and found the Prince Pollona, the Englishman who buys for the Wallace Collection, and somebody who, they tell me, was the Rockefeller of St. Petersburg. Well, my little picture was what they all wanted, and you can imagine that I retired from the running...! But I tell you this," she said, "only to show you how very good my taste is, and so that you may rely on my selections."
Bulstrode smiled in a way that said he thought he might rely on her, but still he asked rather quizzically, "Well, what are you going to recommend to me now?"
The lady at the moment, not having anything in mind, looked suddenly up, gave him whimsically:
"Molly and her Marquis."
The two young people with Jack Falconer were coming slowly along the Rue de Paris toward them. The grace of the girl, her freshness under her wide hat where flowers and ribbons danced and blended; the radiant pleasure she exhaled, the swing of her dress, her youth, expressed so happily the joy of life, recommended themselves easily in a flash....
"Oh, Molly—she's perfect!"
"And the Marquis?"
"He is perfectly in love," ... Bulstrode allowed him so much.
"My dear friend, remember I know my objets d'art."