“It isn’t—you said—we were to leave Rosie with Mr. Maitland—”
“Sandy, Sandy, where do you expect to go to—?”
“When? Well—you said, we were to leave him”—nodding in Marcus’s direction—“to Rosie—it comes to the same thing.”
“Are you interested in old things, Mr. Maitland?” asked Mrs. Madder.
Marcus said he was—in some old things.
“We are always on the lookout—this is a sweet little print, isn’t it?” She held out a cheaply framed, hand-coloured print for his inspection.
Marcus looked at it and asked where she had got it.
“Oh, that’s telling,” she answered playfully; “the man said it was a bargain, though I don’t think even he knew its true value. What do you think I gave for it?”
Marcus said he had no idea. Mrs. Madder challenged him to guess, but did not wait to hear whether he made a good guess or not. He must see the quaintest little bit of china she had bought! Was he jealous? That it was quaint Marcus could say with perfect truth—with less truth that he was very jealous.
“It’s such fun collecting, isn’t it?” she asked impetuously. She was terribly impetuous and inclined to be playful.