He laughed, and would not reply.
"That means more, Marcus: how do you imagine that an old woman like me, with only just enough for bread and butter, can waste her money on Sèvres?" He grinned. She put it down resolutely. "No! I've got a consumptive nephew with a consumptive family. He ought to have been hung for marrying, but I've got to send them all to Davos this winter. No, I can't, Marcus; I can't—I'm too poor." But her eyes caressed the shining thing.
Daphne bent forward. "If the Duchess has really made up her mind, Mr. Marcus, I will take it. It would just suit me!"
Marcus started on his chair. "Pardon, Madame!" he said, turning hastily to look at the slender lady in white, of whom he had as yet taken no notice.
"We have the motor. We can take it with us," said Daphne, stretching out her hand for it triumphantly.
"Madame," said Marcus, in some agitation, "I have not the honour. The price——"
"The price doesn't matter," said Daphne, smiling. "You know me quite well, Mr. Marcus. Do you remember selling a Louis Seize cabinet to Miss Floyd?"
"Ah!" The dealer was on his feet in a moment, saluting, excusing himself. Daphne heard him with graciousness. She was now the centre of the situation: she had asserted herself, and her money. Marcus outdid himself in homage. Lelius in the background looked on, a sarcastic smile hidden by his fair moustache. Mrs. Fairmile, too, smiled; Roger had grown rather hot; and the Duchess was frankly annoyed.
"I surrender it to force majeure," she said, as Daphne took it from her. "Why are we not all Americans?"
And then, leaning back in her chair, she would talk no more. The pleasure of the visit, so far as it had ever existed, was at an end.