survey
of the shop, he lingered near, hoping that his rival would relinquish
her opportunity.

"Five pounds! O dear, that is too much for me, I'm afraid," he heard her
say, and, at the voice, he turned and looked at her. The voice was
unusual--a rapid, rather husky voice that made him think of muffled
bells or snow-bound water, gay in rhythm, yet marred in tone, almost as
though the speaker had cried a great deal. She was an unusual figure,
too, though he could not have said why, except that her dress seemed to
recall bygone fashions quaintly, though without a hint of dowdiness or
affectation. She wore a skirt and jacket of soft gray, with pleated lawn
at neck and wrists, and her small gray hat was wreathed with violets.
She held the lacquer box, and her face, rosy, crisp, decisive, and
showing, like her voice, a marred gaiety, expressed her reluctant
relinquishment and her strong desire. Owen had seen a child look at a
forbidden fruit with just such an expression and he suddenly wished that
he could give the box to her rather than to Gwendolen, to whom five
pounds was a matter of small moment.

"I think I mustn't," she repeated, after a further hesitation, and
setting the box down with cherishing care. "Not to-day. And I have so
much red lacquer. It's like dram-drinking."

Mr. Glazebrook smiled affably. He was evidently on old-established terms
with his customer. "Perhaps you'd like to look round a bit, Mrs.
Waterlow," he suggested. "There are some nice pieces of old glass in the
inner room, quite cheap, some of them--a set of old champagne glasses."
Mrs. Waterlow, saying that she wanted some old champagne glasses, moved
away.

"Do you think the lady has given up that box?" Owen asked. "I don't want
to buy it if there's a chance of her changing her mind."

Mr. Glazebrook said that there was no such chance, the lady being one
who knew her own mind; so the box was bought and Owen ordered it to be
sent to Gwendolen. He said then that he would like to have a look round,
too. He really wanted to have another look at the lady with the rosy
face and the small gray hat trimmed with violets. He peered into
cabinets ranged thickly with old glass and china, examined the Worcester
tea-set disposed upon a table and the case of Chinese tear-bottles and
Japanese netzukes, and presently made his way into the smaller, dimmer
room at the back.

"Oh, Mr. Glazebrook," said the lady in gray. She had heard his step, but
had not tur