"Owner said it had been in his family for more than a hundred years. He said that the panels were painted by Angelica Kauffman." "Are you quite sure he didn’t say after Angelica Kauffman?" Quinney shook his head. From every pore in his skin confidence was oozing. "Did he know the value of it?" "No, he didn’t." "Ah! He must have been pleased with your cheque." Quinney explained matters. Pressland’s expression became acutely melancholy; and his silence, as he turned away, was eloquent of a commiseration too deep for words. "Isn’t it right, Mr. Pressland?" "My opinion is worth little, Mr. Quinney." "I’m prepared to pay for it if necessary." "No, no, no! Not from you. Well, then, I am afraid you have been had. Did the dealers at the ’knock-out’ suspect that you wanted it badly?" "Perhaps they did. I kept on bidding." "Just so. It’s a little way they have. Very, very jealous, some of them. You have been successful. Success makes enemies. I have enemies. There are men in London who accuse me of abominable, unmentionable things." He smiled modestly, spreading out his hands. "You can afford to laugh at ’em, Mr. Pressland." "I do." "Am I to take it from you, sir, that Angelica did not paint those panels?" Pressland shrugged his shoulders. "I am of opinion, and I may well be mistaken, that those panels were painted after Angelica Kauffman’s death, probably by a clever pupil. But please ask somebody else." He drifted away, promising to call again, assuring Quinney that he would send him customers. *III* Susan had the story red-hot from his trembling lips about ten minutes later. "I’ve been done—cooked to a crisp!" he wailed. She kissed and consoled him tenderly, but he refused to be comforted. She had applied raw steak to his injured eye. What balm could she pour upon a bruised and bleeding heart? "That man knows. He felt sorry for me. He hated to tell me. He promised that he would tell nobody else—a good sort! What did your mother say—Sir Humpty and Lady Dumpty. There you are!" She kissed him again and stroked his face. "I was so sure of my own judgment, Susie. The loss of the money is bad enough, but everybody will find out that I’ve been had. That’s what tears me!" "He may be mistaken." "Not he. He knows. I’ve a mind to go outside and hire a strong man to kick me." Next morning there was a wholesome reaction. Susan and he stood in front of the commode. The sun streamed upon it. "By Gum! I do believe it’s all right. If it isn’t, I’d better go back to Melchester and stay there." He caressed the lovely wood so tenderly that Susan felt jealous. "Oh, you beauty!" he exclaimed passionately. "I believe in you; yes, I do. An artist created you. An artist painted those panels." He recovered his cheerfulness, and assured Susan that he was prepared to back his opinion against Tomlin, Pressland, and all other pessimists.