of that sort has any charms for papa, unless
it's dirty and dingy and centuries old."

"This looks all that. I only bought it because, though it wasn't down on
the catalogue, I had a fancy that it might interest the Professor."

"Oh!" cried Sylvia, clasping her pretty hands, "if only it does, Horace!
If it turns out to be tremendously rare and valuable! I do believe dad
would be so delighted that he'd consent to anything. Ah, that's his step
outside ... he's letting himself in. Now mind you don't forget to tell
him about that bottle."

The Professor did not seem in the sweetest of humours as he entered the
drawing-room. "Sorry I was obliged to be from home, and there was nobody
but my wife and daughter here to entertain you. But I am glad you
stayed--yes, I'm rather glad you stayed."

"So am I, sir," said Horace, and proceeded to give his account of the
sale, which did not serve to improve the Professor's temper. He thrust
out his under lip at certain items in the catalogue. "I wish I'd gone
myself," he said; "that bowl, a really fine example of sixteenth-century
Persian work, going for only five guineas! I'd willingly have given ten
for it. There, there, I thought I could have depended on you to use your
judgment better than that!"

"If you remember, sir, you strictly limited me to the sums you marked."

"Nothing of the sort," said the Professor, testily; "my marginal notes
were merely intended as indications, no more. You might have known that
if you had secured one of the things at any price I should have
approved."

Horace had no grounds for knowing anything of the kind, and much reason
for believing the contrary, but he saw no use in arguing the matter
further, and merely said he was sorry to have misunderstood.

"No doubt the fault was mine," said the Professor, in a tone that
implied the opposite. "Still, making every allowance for inexperience in
these matters, I should have thought it impossible for any one to spend
a whole day bidding at a place like Hammond's without even securing a
single article."

"But, dad," put in Sylvia, "Mr. Ventimore did get _one_ thing--on his
own account. It's a brass bottle, not down in the catalogue, but he
thinks it may be worth something perhaps. And he'd very much like to
have your opinion."

"Tchah!" said the Professor. "Some modern bazaar work, most probably.
He'd better have kept his money. What was this bottle of yours like,
now, eh?"

Horace described it.