er of man which the
opportunism of the particular moment required. Yet, with all this, in
every nerve and bone and fibre he adored material and intellectual
beauty, and physical suffering in others actually distressed him.

Now, reviewing matters, deeply interested to find the microscopic
obstruction which had so abruptly stopped the machinery of destiny for
him, he was modest enough and sufficiently liberal-minded to admit to
himself that Alma Hind-Willet was the exception that proved this rule.
There _were_ women so constructed that they had become essentially
unresponsive. Alma was one. But, he concluded that if he lived a
thousand years he was not likely to encounter another.

And the following afternoon he called upon Mrs. Hind-Willet's
understudy, the blue-eyed little Countess d'Enver.

Helene d'Enver was superintending the definite closing of her beautiful
duplex apartments--the most beautiful in the great chateau-like,
limestone building. And Jose Querida knew perfectly well what the rents
were.

"Such a funny time to come to see me," she had said laughingly over the
telephone; "I'm in a dreadful state with skirts pinned up and a
motor-bonnet over my hair, but I will _not_ permit my maids to touch the
porcelains; and if you really wish to see me, come ahead."

He really wished to. Besides he adored her Ming porcelains and her
Celedon, and the idea of any maid touching them almost gave him
heart-failure. He himself possessed one piece of Ming and a broken
fragment of Celedon. Women had been married for less.

She was very charming in her pinned-up skirts and her dainty head-gear,
and she welcomed him and intrusted him with specimens which sent
pleasant shivers down his flexible spine.

And, together, they put away many scores of specimens which were
actually priceless, inasmuch as any rumour of a public sale would have
excited amateurs to the verge of lunacy, and almost any psychopathic
might have established a new record for madness at an auction of this
matchless collection.

They breathed easier when the thrilling task was ended; but emotion
still enchained them as they seated themselves at a tea-table--an
emotion so deep on Helene's part that she suffered Querida to retain the
tips of her fingers for an appreciable moment when transferring sugar to
his cup. And she listened, with a smile almost tremulous, to the
fascinating music of his voice, charmingly attuned and modulated to a
pitch which, someh