It seemed to be the real right thing, so right that the little man, who had unconsciously absorbed some of the Melchester sermons, told himself that the guiding finger of Providence could be plainly discerned. There were dry cellars for storing valuable woods, a back-yard, and a big drawing-room, finely decorated in the Adam style, possibly by the hand of the Master, which occupied the first floor, and looked out upon the Square through three nobly-proportioned windows. Quinney decided instantly to make this splendid room his "sanctuary," the treasure-house, wherein his "gems" would be fittingly enshrined. The ground floor would serve admirably as a shop. There were several bedrooms and excellent offices. In regard to the situation he came to this conclusion. The shops of the groundlings in the trade were invariably small and ill-lighted; the establishments of the big dealers commanded a rent beyond his means. In any case, he would have to work up a clientele, and his customers, when they did find their way to this ancient square, would behold his beautiful wares under the happiest conditions of space and light. The rent, including rates and taxes, came to less than three hundred a year! A big rent, it is true, for a dealer with his capital, but much less than Tomlin paid for large and inconvenient premises in the Fulham Road. He signed a long lease within twenty-four hours, and returned, exulting in his strength, to Melchester and Susan. *IV* He did not tell her his wonderful news at once. A habit of secretiveness concerning his business was forming itself. It must be recorded on his behalf that Susan’s indifference to "sticks and stones" exasperated him. By this time he had recognized her inability to appreciate fine "stuff!" As a saleswoman she had enchanted him, but even then, when she trotted about the shop smiling sweetly at his customers, he knew that she would never acquire a sense of values, that nice discrimination which detects unerringly the good from the very good, and acclaims the genius of the artist so subtly differentiated from the handicraft of the artisan. Susan, artless soul! had news of her own to impart. She had found a house just outside Melchester—a house with a bathroom, with hot and cold water laid on, a labour-saving house quite up to date—a bargain! The expression of his shrewd face, as he listened, warned Susan that he was keeping something from her. Human paste she understood better than he did. The animation died out of her voice as she faltered: "You look so queer, Joe." Then he told her. To his surprise and satisfaction she acquiesced meekly. She was thinking that her prayers had been answered; but she could not bring herself to say so. Also she was cruelly hurt at his lack of confidence, afraid to speak lest she should say too much, too proud to break down, pathetically silent. Quinney went on floundering amongst the broken ice.