“You ’aven’t made it clear to me why you’re objecting to that two hundred now.”

Isaac was beginning to feel that stupidity was now his refuge.

“I’m not objecting to your reckless extravagance, as you seem to think.  I’m trying to suggest that twelve hundred is a ridiculously small offer for a collection which can’t be worth less than four thousand.”

“It may be worth that to a collector.  It isn’t worth it to me.”

“It’s worth it to any dealer who knows his business.”

“Pretty business, if you have to buy at fancy prices and sell at a risk.”

“I allowed for the risk in the valuation—­I always do.  There’s one point where you are extravagant, if you like.  What’s the use of paying me for advice if you won’t take it?”

Isaac’s stupidity increased.

“’Ow do you mean—­paying you for your advice?”

“Paying a valuer, then, if you won’t accept his valuation.”

So unwilling was he to admit the sharpness of his father’s practice that he tried to persuade himself that they had merely disagreed on a point of connoisseurship.  “My advice, if you remember, was to withdraw decently, or pay a decent price.”

“I’ve paid my price, and I’m certainly not going to withdraw.”

“Well, but I’m afraid, if you won’t withdraw, I must.  You haven’t paid my price, and I can’t be responsible.”

Isaac caressed his beard gently, and looked at Keith with a gaze so clear that it might have passed for pure.  He was saying to himself, as he had said once before, “There’s a woman in it.”

“Don’t you see,” Keith broke out, “the atrocious position that I’m in?  I promised Miss Harden that we’d do our best for her, and now we’re taking advantage of the situation to drive an iniquitous bargain with her.”

As Keith made this powerful statement Isaac smiled, puzzled and indulgent, as at some play of diverting but incomprehensible humour.  In fact, he never could clearly distinguish between Keith’s sense of humour and his sense of honour; both seemed equally removed from the safe, intelligible methods of ordinary men.  He wasn’t sure but what there was something fine in it, something in keeping with the intellectual extravagance that distinguished his son from other people’s sons.  There were moments when it amused and interested him, but he did not care to have it obtruded on him in business hours.

“I’m driving no bargain with the lady at all.  The books aren’t hers, they’re Pilkington’s.  I’m dealing with him.”

“And you refuse to consider her interests?”

“How can you say so when I’m paying two hundred more than I need do, on her account alone?  You must explain that clearly to her.”

“Not I. You can explain it yourself.  To me, you see, the whole thing’s simply a colossal fraud.  I won’t have anything to do with it.”

“You ’aven’t anything to do with it.  I made the bargain, and I keep to it.”