icked it up and lazily
opened it, I saw him bend forward eagerly, then, finding that I had
noted his eagerness, he rose, pretending that a brass screen before the
fireplace had caught his eye and asked whether it was not a Florentine
production, which shook my faith in his connoisseurship, as I had bought
the thing myself from a New York brassworker who had made it to my
order.

Montani spoke of the porcelains. "Oh, to be sure! They don't show to
best advantage in electric light, do they? But I can have a few of the
prize pieces taken into the dining-room," said Alice.

Mrs. Farnsworth had excused herself to finish a letter, and from my
chair I could see her head bent over the big desk in the library. Alice
rang for Antoine, and I followed her into the hall to offer my aid.

"Oh, don't trouble," she said. "Antoine can do anything necessary. Yes;
thanks; if you will turn on the dining-room lights."

I was gone hardly half a minute. When I reached the drawing-room door
Montani had crossed the room to the table on which Alice had dropped the
fan and was examining it closely. He faced the door, and the moment he
detected me exclaimed carelessly: "An exquisite little bauble! I am
always curious as to the source of such trifles. I was looking for the
maker's imprimatur. I know a Parisian who is the leading manufacturer of
the world. But it is not his, I see."

As we stood talking of other things he plied the fan carelessly as
though for the pleasure of the faint scent it exhaled, and when Alice
called us he put it down carefully where he had found it.

He really did seem to know something about ceramics and praised, with
lively enthusiasm, the pieces that had been set out on the table. One
piece, as to whose authenticity my uncle had entertained serious doubts,
Montani unhesitatingly pronounced genuine and stated very plausible
reasons for his opinion.

On the whole, he was an interesting fellow. When he had finished his
inspections he lingered for only a few minutes and took his leave,
saying that he was spending the night at an inn near Stamford.

"Well," said Alice when the whir of his machine had died away, "what do
you think of him?"

"A very agreeable gentleman," I answered. "If he doesn't know
porcelains, he fakes his talk admirably."

"And as to fans--" suggested Mrs. Farnsworth.

I had not intended to mention Montani's interest in Alice's fan, and the
remark surprised me.

"Oh, I saw it all from the li