“Well, well,” he said, tolerantly, “I vaguely recall the piece. A very nice copy, no doubt, of Fierienti’s Duchess.”
“Copy!” I cried. “Indeed, it is the original from which Fierienti made his copy. I can prove it from grandma’s records. It is the Fierienti thought to have been destroyed in the London fire.”
He laughed softly.
“I will have a look at it, Enid. I hate to disillusion you, but old ladies attach exaggerated value to their treasures. No doubt your grandmother believed in it.”
“She was your grandmother, too,” I found myself murmuring.
“Surely, surely,” he continued cheerfully, “but the things are yours, my dear girl, and it occurred to me as an opportunity now for you to raise a little something on them.”
He rang off, and I sat with my head in my hands. The Fierienti a copy! I could not credit it. In spite of the disappointment which the mirage of a fortune almost invariably disguises, this alluring, laughing little figure’s identity had been family history. Three centuries had staked their faiths upon it. Yet, Cary Penwick was an expert. . . . I paced the floor, assuring myself that even experts were not infallible; the Chevalier de Russy was an authority, whereas Cary had been but a careless boy when he saw the Fierienti. My mercurial spirit soared upward again; I refused to believe the worst until confronted by it; then I would surrender gracefully. I ran to tell Martha of the guest’s coming, and found her poised, Mahomet-like, between the ether of joy and the mundane condition of the larder.
“There’s enough coffee for one, with corn muffins, rice fritters and broiled ham—”
“If he asks for truffles, serve the Buddha; if for partridge, bring on the Mercury!”
“Eight sticks and two barrels,” chanted Martha, “and I say it’s the Lord who sent him here at this time. Maybe he’ll buy that there Duchess at your price, miss. But, I can’t heat up the library: it would take the whole woodshed. Many’s the time, when Mr. Cary wasn’t but ten year old, he would climb up on them shelves and pitch the books down on me. And eat! Anything this side of a tin can that boy could eat.”