He resolved that he would say not a word about it, except by way of proud hint to his family. He would surprise them with it; and he pictured himself announcing the news. The final letter which conferred the dignity would come by the morning mail most probably; he would distinguish it at once by the large official envelope; but he would be in no haste to open it. He would do what children do with sweetmeats, keep the best to the last. And then, just when Helen kissed him as he left the house, and said "Good-bye, father!" he would turn round with a grave smile, and say, "Sir Archibold Masterman, if you please." And she would say, "What new joke is this, father?" And he would answer with a calm voice, as though he spoke of a matter of the least possible importance, "It's not a joke ... read that!" And his wife would stand behind Helen, trembling a little; and, far away in Canada, Arthur would get the news, and would be sorry he had not valued such a father.... It was a delightful vision, and he thrilled to it with the ardour of a boy. He replied at once, expressing his appreciation and his gratitude. Then he fell to wondering how long it took to get the matter settled. There were no doubt forms and preliminaries, and all that sort of thing, but surely a week would be long enough. A week passed, a month--still no answer came. He tortured himself with fears of what might have happened. Had he expressed himself foolishly in his reply, shown himself too eager perhaps, or had his letter miscarried? He would go to Brighton. This strain of waiting was intolerable. No, he would go to Paris. The man who was to collect the oak and marbles for his projected country house lived there, and it would divert his thoughts to meet him. He went by the afternoon express from Charing Cross. As he entered his compartment, he noticed a neatly dressed inconspicuous man who appeared to be observing him closely. The man looked at him strangely, passed by him and entered the same train. He saw him again upon the boat. When he reached the Gare du Nord the same man passed by him again, just as he was ordering a carriage, and disappeared into the crowd. "Some pressman, I suppose. Well, he'll know me again," he said to himself, and thought no more about it. The next day he met the dealer he had come to see. He proved to be a most interesting fellow, shrewd, adroit, and a master in the art of persuasion. One thing led to another, and a couple of days passed in the inspection of the stock. Each night he came back quite tired out to the hotel. Each morning he began his quest for art treasures with renewed ardour. He had no other occupation. He had left no address at the office, and no mail reached him. It was a new and delightful method of taking a holiday, and he wondered he had not thought of it before.