Mrs. Biddlecombe welcomed the homing couple when they returned to the Dream Cottage, but she positively refused to forsake the semi-detached in Laburnum Row, although Quinney, for his part, was willing to entertain a mother-in-law indefinitely, if Susan wished it. Susan, rather to his surprise, did not wish it. And the obvious fact that her husband considered the matter of small importance slightly distressed her, as indicating an abnormal indifference to _persons_ which contrasted oddly with his absorption in _things_ of wood and stone, graven images, let us call them, which the almighty Tomlin had set up in the freshly decorated and enlarged premises in Mel Street. Tomlin, indeed, had sent down a lot of stuff, and some of it was very good. Joe could hardly tear himself from the porcelain, and gloated over the blue and white, so Susan affirmed, as if he wished to kiss it. The London dealer followed his crates. He expressed unqualified approval of what Joe had bought in Brittany, taking, however, most of the credit to himself, inasmuch as he had dispatched Quinney to Treguier. The younger man grinned, wondering what Tomlin would say when he beheld the Dream Cottage and its furniture. He arranged that Mrs. Biddlecombe should be present upon that memorable occasion, for he was well aware that the good soul did not share his enthusiasm for mahogany, and that she resented his criticism of her burked schemes of decoration. Need it be recorded that Quinney triumphed? Tomlin was so impressed that he said gaspingly, "I’ll take the lot off your hands, Joe, at a twenty-five per cent. advance." "No, you won’t!" replied Joe. "Our furniture is not for sale, old man. Not yet, by Gum!" "You are a wonder!" said Tomlin generously. "Isn’t he?" exclaimed Susan. It was a great moment. Late dinner followed, a _partie carrée_. Joe provided champagne, and port in a cut-glass decanter. Warmed by this splendid hospitality, Tomlin became anecdotal. Perhaps he wanted to astonish the ladies. Unquestionably he succeeded in doing so. One story will suffice to illustrate Tomlin’s methods, and it was told, be it remembered, with exuberant chucklings within two hundred yards of the Cathedral Close. "It’s becoming harder every day, ma’am," he addressed Mrs. Biddlecombe, "to get hold of the right stuff—cheap. I have agents everywhere. Old Mr. Quinney was one. And now and again they hear of a real bargain. Often as not the people who ’ave it won’t part. They would part, ma’am, if they was offered the right price, but that wouldn’t be business. No. Well, only the other day, I got hold of the sweetest table, genuine Adam, and _hand-painted_! Paid a fiver for it!" "Really, did you now?" murmured Mrs. Biddlecombe For all she knew a "fiver" might be a large or a small price. Tomlin continued: "Yes, ma’am, a fi’ pun note. It was this way. The table belonged to a decayed gentlewoman, who’d seen better days, and needed money."