"Yes," Quinney replied, with equal gravity, "this is my private collection, Mr. Hunsaker; everything I value most in the world, including my wife and daughter. Lordy! How I hate rubbish! Rubbish is beastly!" He pointed to the lacquer cabinet, purposely distracting the young man’s attention from the chairs. "Now a cabinet like that makes me think of heaven. I can say my prayers to it!" Susan said, with a touch of her mother’s majesty: "Joe, how you do go on!" "Yes, my dear, I go on and _up_! We’d be stewin’ in our own juice in a silly old sleepy town if it hadn’t been for me. On and—up! What a motter for a Christmas cracker! Married the right woman, too, a perfect lady!" "Joe—please!" Hunsaker was much amused. He had liked the little man at first sight; he was quite as delighted with his family. Quinney continued in high good humour: "I chose her"—he pointed at Susan, who blushed. "And the result," he pointed at Posy, who did not blush, "justifies my choice—hey?" "You bet it does," said Hunsaker. "Miss Quinney is by all odds the most precious object in this wonderful room—the gem, if I may say so, of your remarkable collection." Quinney gazed fondly at his daughter. He had almost forgotten the chairs. "Just like a bit of Chelsea, Mr. Hunsaker. The real soft paste, and as good as she’s pretty; the apple of her father’s eye. Plays the pianner and the mandoline! Sings like a canary!" Posy expostulated. "Father! Please!" She put her finger to her pretty lips. Hunsaker, feeling that he had known these pleasant people all his life, said significantly: "You won’t keep her long, sir." "What?" "Not if there are any spry young men about." Quinney betrayed real uneasiness. It flashed upon him suddenly that this abominable loss was inevitable. He consoled himself with the reflection that no spry young men had been about. Then he said with unction: "I’m going to hang on tight to my little girl. She is the gem of my collection. Cost me more than money, too." He sank his voice confidentially. "Nearly cost me her pore dear mother. By Gum! I remember swearing that I’d give up selling imitation oak as the real stuff, if my old Dutch pulled through." "And did you?" Hunsaker asked. "I did. More, I tore up a big card that used to live in our front window—’_Genuine Antiques!_’ Yes; never sold faked stuff after that, unless labelled as such. Lordy! I’m wastin’ your valuable time." "Not at all." "Posy, show Mr. Hunsaker that case o’ miniatures. I’ve a Samuel Cooper, two Englehearts, a Plimer, and half a dozen Cosways." Hunsaker shook his head. "I know nothing about miniatures. There’s a daisy of a china cabinet!" "It is. Delighted to show you stuff, Mr. Hunsaker. You’ve the collector’s eye. Take a squint at those blue and white jars on the mantelpiece." "I’d sooner look at your chairs." Quinney said lightly: