"Then I suppose what you want now is to look over the house?"
The question and the gaze were so direct that Dicky (who had meant to amble delicately round that point for another quarter of an hour) lost his head, dropped his eye-glass, and fairly let himself go.
"Well, perhaps as I am here, I'd better 'ave a look round. Of course—if—if it's in any way inconvenient—"
"Not in the least. You can look round at once."
She rang the bell. On her way to it she gathered up some books that were lying out of sight and laid them on the table.
"These," she said to Rickman, "belong to the library. They must go with the rest."
He looked at them. One was an Aldine Dante, he had seen her reading it. He took Pilkington aside and said something to him in a tone which Lucia could not hear. Her hand was on the door when Pilkington sprang forward.
"One moment, Miss Harden. Everything must be sold in the regular way, but if you'll tell me of any books you've a special fancy for, I'll make a note of them and buy them in for you." He paused, awaiting the breath of inspiration. It came. "For—for a merely nominal sum."
To do Dicky justice this delicate idea greatly commended itself to his good nature. Business is business, but not willingly did Dicky inflict pain, least of all upon a young and pretty woman. Besides he had an eye to his reputation; he was disposed to do this thing handsomely. Rickman envied him his inspiration, his "merely nominal sum."
"Thank you. The books were not mine," said Lucia in spite of another meaning look from her ally.