“Yes.”

Jimmie whistled and walked away.  Contemptuously he said: 

“He ought to have joined the Carvers’ Union.”

Stafford laughed.

“There was none in those days,” he said.  “Even if there had been he wouldn’t have joined.  He was an artist; he worked for the joy of working.”

Jimmie snickered.  Sneeringly he said: 

“He knew his own business best, I suppose, but I’ve never seen a man who could raise a family on that.”

Replacing the ivory back in the cabinet where it belonged, Stafford turned to the mantel and pointed to the Peach Blow vase, which only a few moments before had met with disaster.  But the damage was not visible from a distance, and with the natural pride of a collector showing one of his most valued possessions, the railroad man said: 

“I have one or two Peach Blows that I think are rather good.  There is one up there which I am particularly fond of.”

Jimmie more and more nervous gave his fiancee a nudge.  In a frightened undertone he whispered to her: 

“It’s coming!  It’s coming!”

To hide her confusion, Fanny pretended to be very busy with her handkerchief.  Stafford, meantime, had gone up to the bookcase.  Reaching up his hand so he could take hold of the vase by its neck, the millionaire went on: 

“This vase is said to be—­”

His hand touched the vase, but, instead of lifting it, he simply lifted up the piece which had been broken off.  For a moment he stared at the fragment in amazement, while the others looked on in silent consternation.  There was an ominous pause.  Jimmie, turning pale, could feel his heart thumping violently against his ribs.

“Why, it’s broken!” exclaimed their host.

“Yes—­” said Jimmie quickly.

“Why—­so it is!” gasped Fanny, on the theory that an expression of bewilderment on her part would exonerate her from suspicion.

Stafford stood still, trying to fix the two pieces together.  He was quite cool and to all appearances the least concerned of the four.  There was not even a note of impatience in his voice as he said: 

“Oku must be more careful.  I never knew him to do a thing like this before.”

Virginia approached her future brother-in-law.  In a quick undertone she said: 

“Tell him.”

“Not on your life,” he answered in the same tragic whisper.  “He doesn’t suspect us.  We can get away with it.”

Utterly disgusted, Virginia moved toward her host.

“Mr. Stafford!” she said loudly and firmly.

He looked up, surprised at her manner and tone.

“Yes?” he smiled.

“Oku didn’t break it.”

Stafford stared at her in amazement.

“Didn’t he?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No—­it wasn’t Oku.”  She hesitated a moment; as if still unwilling to disclose the real culprit, Finally she said:  “We—­we did—­it.”