a good little boy and not waste his pocket-money."

"Nineteen!" said Horace. "Pound!" answered the cherubic man.

"A pound only bid for this grand brass vessel," said the auctioneer,
indifferently. "All done at a pound?"

Horace thought another shilling or two would not ruin him, and nodded.

"A guinea. For the last time. You'll _lose_ it, sir," said the
auctioneer to the little man.

"Go on, Tommy. Don't you be beat. Spring another bob on it, Tommy," his
friends advised him ironically; but Tommy shook his head, with the air
of a man who knows when to draw the line. "One guinea--and that's not
half its value! Gentleman on my left," said the auctioneer, more in
sorrow than in anger--and the brass bottle became Ventimore's property.

He paid for it, and, since he could hardly walk home nursing a large
metal bottle without attracting an inconvenient amount of attention,
directed that it should be sent to his lodgings at Vincent Square.

But when he was out in the fresh air, walking westward to his club, he
found himself wondering more and more what could have possessed him to
throw away a guinea--when he had few enough for legitimate expenses--on
an article of such exceedingly problematical value.

CHAPTER III

AN UNEXPECTED OPENING

Ventimore made his way to Cottesmore Gardens that evening in a highly
inconsistent, not to say chaotic, state of mind. The thought that he
would presently see Sylvia again made his blood course quicker, while he
was fully determined to say no more to her than civility demanded.

At one moment he was blessing Professor Futvoye for his happy thought in
making use of him; at another he was bitterly recognising that it would
have been better for his peace of mind if he had been left alone. Sylvia
and her mother had no desire to see more of him; if they had, they would
have asked him to come before this. No doubt they would tolerate him now
for the Professor's sake; but who would not rather be ignored than
tolerated?

The more often he saw Sylvia the more she would make his heart ache with
vain longing--whereas he was getting almost reconciled to her
indifference; he would very soon be cured if he didn't see her.

Why _should_ he see her? He need not go in at all. He had merely to
leave the catalogue with his compliments, and the Professor would learn
all he wanted to know.

On second thoughts he must go in--if only to return the bank-note. But
he would ask to see the Profes