"I wish I knew what it is all about," said Susan to Posy. In a louder voice she addressed her husband: "Maybe Posy and I had better leave you?" "Please yourselves," said Quinney. His eyes were sparkling, and his short, red hair bristled with excitement and the lust of battle. "As they are fighting for me," said Posy, "I’ll stay." Susan observed in utter bewilderment: "I’ve looked on all my life, and I can do it a little longer." She turned to Posy, with the intention of asking for some sort of explanation; but Posy had gone up to her father. "Daddy!" Quinney replied roughly: "Too late to say you’re sorry now, my girl!" "But I’m not sorry. I’m ever so glad. Whether you are right or wrong about Jim, it is everything—yes, everything—to me to know that you really meant what you said just now." She went back to her mother as Hunsaker’s genial voice was heard coming up the stairs: "Yes, sir, a sanctuary; and not a thing in it for sale!" *II* The two visitors entered, followed by James. Tomlin gasped when he beheld Hunsaker’s companion, a celebrity known to all the great dealers in two hemispheres. He was short, rather stout, and very quietly dressed, with a fine head set upon rounded shoulders. The face was heavy-featured and saturnine, the face of a man who had lived a strenuous life, a fighter and a conqueror. Hunsaker pronounced his name with pride: "Mr. Quinney, this is Mr. Dupont Jordan." "Glad to see you, Mr. Jordan," said Quinney. He waved his hand. "My wife and daughter." The famous collector bowed to the ladies, and nodded to Tomlin, who murmured obsequiously: "Mr. Jordan has honoured me with his patronage." Hunsaker’s voice rose jovially above the murmurs: "Mr. Jordan is interested in my chairs. He wants to see ’em. What he doesn’t know about Chippendale furniture you could put into a mustard-seed and hear it rattle." "Dear me!" said Susan. "That’s a pity. The chairs are cased, I believe." "Not all of them," said James. "One chair is still unpacked." He stared boldly at Quinney, asking for a sign. Quinney rubbed his hands. "Good," said he. "Go and fetch the chair, James." "Fetch it here, sir?" "At once, my lad." Tomlin began to shake. Of all men in the world, Dupont Jordan was least to be desired at such a moment. Tomlin grew painfully moist and hot. James left the room, slightly slamming the door, a slam that sounded to Tomlin like the crack of doom. Hunsaker, meanwhile, had engaged the ladies in talk. Jordan stood beside Quinney, silent, but looking with interest at the incised lacquer screen. Quinney said to him quietly: "Is it true, Mr. Jordan, that you bought the Pevensey chairs from Lark and Bundy?" "Quite true, Mr. Quinney. That is why I wish so particularly to see Mr. Hunsaker’s set, which I understand are like mine." Quinney said in a loud tone: "I’m sorry."