Mr. Tredgold, roused from the pleasurable reminiscences of a collector, remembered himself suddenly. "Oh, yes, he got another one," he said, soothingly.
"Is—is he bedridden now?" inquired the girl.
"I haven't seen him for some time," said Mr. Tredgold, truthfully. "He gave up smoking and—and then I didn't go to see him, you know."
"He's dead," said Miss Drewitt, shivering. "He died in—— Oh, you are horrible!"
"That carving—" began Mr. Tredgold.
"Don't talk about it, please," said the indignant Miss Drewitt. "I can't understand why my uncle should have listened to your advice at all; you must have forced it on him. I'm sure he didn't know how you got it."
"Yes, he did," said the other. "In fact, it was intended for his room at first. He was quite pleased with it."
"Why did he alter his mind, then?" inquired the girl.
Mr. Tredgold looked suddenly at the opposite wall, but his lips quivered and his eyes watered. Miss Drewitt, reading these signs aright, was justly incensed.
"I don't believe it," she cried.