tn't overdo yourself just because you happen to
have been a little stronger these past two days," said his wife, laying
a gentle hand upon his arm. "Besides, we must give Mr. Rickaby time to
breathe. He has had a long journey, and I am sure he will want to rest.
You can take him in to see that wonderful collection after dinner,
dear."

"Humph! Full of fakes, as I supposed--and she knows it," was Cleek's
mental comment upon this. And he was not surprised when, finding herself
alone with him a few minutes later, she said, in her pretty, pleading
way:

"Mr. Rickaby, if you are an expert, don't undeceive him. I could not let
you go to see the collection without first telling you. It is full of
bogus things, full of frauds and shams that unscrupulous dealers have
palmed off on him. But don't let him know. He takes such pride in them,
and--and he's breaking down. God pity me, his health is breaking down
every day, Mr. Rickaby, and I want to spare him every pang, if I can,
even so little a pang as the discovery that the things he prizes are not
real."

"Set your mind at rest, Mrs. Bawdrey," promised Cleek. "He will not
find it out from me. He will not find anything out from me. He is just
the kind of man to break his heart, to crumple up like a burnt glove,
and come to the end of all things, even life, if he were to discover
that any of his treasures, anything that he loved and trusted in, is a
sham and a fraud."

His eyes looked straight into hers as he spoke, his hand rested lightly
on her sleeve. She sucked in her breath suddenly, a brief pallor chased
the roses from her cheeks, a brief confusion sat momentarily upon her.
She appeared to hesitate, then looked away and laughed uneasily.

"I don't think I quite grasp what you mean, Mr. Rickaby," she said.

"Don't you?" he made answer. "Then I will tell you some time--tomorrow,
perhaps. But if I were you, Mrs. Bawdrey--well, no matter. This I
promise you: that dear old man shall have no ideal shattered by me."

And, living up to that promise, he enthused over everything the old man
had in his collection when, after dinner that night, they went, in
company with Philip, to view it. But bogus things were on every hand.
Spurious porcelains, fraudulent armour, faked china were everywhere. The
loaded cabinets and the glazed cases were one long procession of faked
Dresden and bogus faience, of Egyptian enamels that had been
manufactured in Birmingham, and of sixth-century "tr