I should say they were," cried the man.

"They are, then--valuable?" Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.

"Indeed they are! But you must know that."

"I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in
their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir."
Again her voice broke.

William Henshaw cleared his throat.

"But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--" He stopped abruptly. His
longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.

Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.

"But I do--that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and
that it will bring in money; and we need--money." She threw a quick
glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. "I
can't do much at work that pays. I sew"--she nodded toward the machine
by the window--"but with only one foot to make it go--You see, the
other is--is inclined to shirk a little," she finished with a wistful
whimsicality.

Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in
her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against--she did
not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot,
or against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting
it--if he did not buy it.

"And so you see, I do very much wish to sell."

Mrs. Greggory said then. "Perhaps you will tell me what it would be
worth to you," she concluded tremulously.

The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful
rapture and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he
spoke.

"I have only one other in my collection as rare," he said. "I paid a
hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this,
madam."

Mrs. Greggory started visibly.

"A hundred dollars? So much as that?" she cried almost joyously. "Why,
nothing else that we've had has brought--Of course, if it's worth that
to you--" She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the hall
outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who
looked to be about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, burst into the
room.

"Mother, only think, I've--" She stopped, and drew back a little.
Her startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the
Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She
shut the door quickly and hurried forward.

"Mother, what is it? Who are these people?" she asked sharply.

Billy lifted her chin the least bi