you have never seen him before and may never see him again. St.
Michael, Mr. Morton Crocker."

"My respects," smiled Crocker, as he turned lazily toward the gilded
panel. There was the warrior saint, his lines stiff, expressive and
hieratic, his armour glistening in grey-blue fastened with embossed
gilded clasps; here and there gorgeous hints of a crimson doublet--the
unmistakable enamel, the grave and delicate tension of a masterpiece by
the rare Venetian, Carlo Crivelli. Crocker gasped and started from his
seat, losing at once his cup, his muffin, and his manners. "By Jove, Miss
Verplanck, Emma, it's my missing St. Michael. Where did you ever find it?
I must have it." His toasted muffin rolled unconsidered beside the spoon
at his feet. Emma retrieved the cup--one of a precious six in old
Meissen--he retained the saucer painfully gripped in both hands.

"I was afraid it was," she answered, "but look well and be sure."

"Of course we must be sure. You'll let me measure it, won't you? It's the
only way." Assuming his permission he climbed awkwardly upon the chair,
happily a stout Italian construction, and as she watched him with a
strange pity, he read off from a pocket rule: "One metre thirty-seven. A
shade taller than mine, but there is no frame. Thirty-one centimetres;
the same thing. Yes, it is my missing St. Michael," and as he climbed
down excitedly he hurried on: "How strange to find it here. I never
talked to you about it, did I? That's odd, too. I've been hunting for it
for years. You didn't know, I suppose. I want it awfully. What can we do
about it?" For Crocker, this fairly amounted to a speech, and before
replying Emma gave him time to sit down, and thrust another cup of tea
into his unwilling hands. Having thus occupied and calmed him, she said,
"I'm very sorry, I hoped it would turn out to be something else. I only
learned last week that you wanted it. You have seldom talked about your
collecting to me. There's nothing to do about it. I wish there were. You
want it so much. But I can't give it to you. That wouldn't do. And I
won't sell it to you. I wouldn't to anybody, and then that wouldn't do,
either. So there we are. Only think of their talk, and you'll see the
situation is impossible."

Crocker's eyes flashed. "There's a lot we might do about it if you will,
Emma. Damn the St. Michael. If his case is so complicated, and I don't
see it, leave him out of the reckoning between us. Can't you see what I