Alas! it must be here recorded that warm-hearted Mrs. Malone was not joking—­but lying.  She had never been to any expert.  The hundred and ten pounds were to come out of her own lean pocket; this had been her “bright idea,” when she contemplated the monster in the cabinet.  She was sincerely fond of Shafto; during the time he had been under her roof she had never known him to do a mean or ungentlemanly action; he was considerate, unselfish, and generous—­poor as he was; also he opened doors, handed chairs, treated age with deference, and in short conducted himself like the people among whom she had lived most of her life.

Richard Hutton was of the same type, so were the two Japanese; but Levison, her most valuable guest, Larcher, and other young boarders had, in her opinion, no manners at all.  They smoked where and how they pleased (barring the drawing-room), left cigarette stumps all over the house, kicked off their boots in the hall, were late for meals, loud in talk, arguments and complaints, and supremely indifferent to the comfort of their companions.

* * * * * *

In some extraordinary and inexplicable manner the story of the monster had leaked out—­at any rate, it was in the air.  Perhaps the monster himself had blazoned forth the fact of his own value, or Michael, the handy man, had caught a whisper from Maggie (Mrs. Malone’s right hand)?  However it was, Mrs. Malone was not a little startled when Mr. Levison, in his loud resonant voice, shouted at her down the dinner table: 

“So I hear you’ve come in for a wonderful find, ma’am—­a Chinese figure valued at a handsome sum!  Do you know I’m something of a judge of such stuff—­old porcelain is rather in my line—­and I’d like to have a look at the prize after dinner, if you don’t object, and if the bargain is not clinched perhaps I might go one better.”

Mrs. Malone coloured like a young girl—­or was it the blush of guilt?  Would her sin find her out?  No; no matter what the dealer said, she determined to stick to her story; she would not allow him to see the figure.  She knew Manasseh Levison to be a persistent, over-bearing sort of man; nevertheless, she was resolved to defeat him.  If the worst came to the worst, she would go to bed, and either take the figure with her, or hide it up the chimney.  But alas for her plans!  Manasseh, scenting a good thing, immediately after his cigar was finished, boldly followed the old lady into forbidden ground—­her sitting-room—­and did not even knock, but just turned the handle of the door and walked in.  He discovered his hostess and young Shafto, evidently holding a weighty conference—­with the figure on the table between them.

“Mr. Levison,” she exclaimed, “are you aware that this is my private apartment, and that such an intrusion is unwelcome?”

Levison, not the least abashed, had snatched up the figure and critically examined it, glass in eye.  For an appreciable time he stood silent and transfixed, obviously gloating over the article in his grasp—­yes, gloating, with the absorbed expression of a devotee!  At last he spoke, raising his voice almost to a shout: