"I shall always remember that," she murmured. *CHAPTER XVI* *A BUSINESS PROPOSITION* *I* "The covers are perfectly beautiful," said Quinney, "the very finest needlework, all of ’em worked by the same hand, and all of ’em different in pattern." He was staring at a set of eight chairs which had arrived that morning from a town in Essex. James had just unpacked them, and was regarding them gloomily, for he cared nothing about needlework covers, and the chairs themselves were of walnut, very old, very worm-eaten, and carved by a prentice hand. He said so presently. Quinney snorted. "Do you think, my lad, I’d ask you to waste your time and talents tinkering with those? Rip off the covers carefully, and put them aside. Save the nails and the backing. Don’t show ’em to anybody. They need cleaning, but I shan’t send ’em to a reg’lar cleaner’s. You can try your hand on ’em." "Not much in my line," said James. "Liver out o’ whack this morning?" "Not that I’m aware of." "Well, try to look more cheerful. It pays." He scuttled off, chuckling to himself, and thinking what fools other dealers were, for these chairs had been bought cheap from a dealer who, like James Miggott, knew nothing of the value of eighteenth-century needlework. By the luck of things, that same morning Tom Tomlin telephoned from Bond Street, asking him to drop in at his earliest convenience. Quinney went at once, well aware that procrastination loses many a bit of business. He found his friend in much excitement. "Got something to show you," said Tomlin. "Got something to show _you_," retorted Quinney. "What?" "The finest set of old needlework chair-covers I’ve seen for many a long day." Tomlin exhibited enthusiasm. "That beats the band!" he exclaimed. "Looks as if it was fairly meant." "What d’ye mean, Tom?" "You come along with me, and see." Quinney followed him, conscious of a rising excitement, for Tomlin reserved enthusiasm for memorable occasions. The pair walked together down Bond Street and into Oxford Street. In a few minutes they were passing Lark and Bundy’s establishment. Tomlin paused at the great plate-glass window. "Look at them chairs, Joe." Quinney flattened his nose against the glass, being slightly short-sighted. The chairs were magnificent. "Nice lot—hey?" "And a nice price Bundy paid for ’em. You wasn’t at Christopher’s the day before yesterday?" "By Gum! Tom, you don’t mean to say that those are the Pevensey chairs?" "Yes, bang out of Pevensey Court, sold with Chippendale’s receipt for ’em. Sixteen hundred guineas, my tulip!" They went on in silence. Presently Quinney growled out: "It’s a cruel price." "They’re the goods, Joe. Hall-marked! Bundy can place ’em at a big profit with Dupont Jordan. Did you notice the carving?" "Did I? Never saw a finer set, never!"