“Dear Christie!”

“I am so happy, I have got over that sting—­almost; and the memory of many kind acts comes back to me; and I don’t know what to do.  It seems ungrateful not to visit him—­it seems almost mean to call.”

“I’ll tell you; take me to see him directly.  He won’t hate us forever, if he sees us often.  We may as well begin at once.  Nobody hates me long.”

Christopher was proud of his wife’s courage and wisdom.  He kissed her, begged her to put on the plainest dress she could, and they went together to call on Uncle Philip.

When they got to his house in Gloucester Place, Portman Square, Rosa’s heart began to quake, and she was right glad when the servant said “Not at home.”

They left their cards and address; and she persuaded Christopher to take her to the sale-room to see the things.

A lot of brokers were there, like vultures; and one after another stepped forward and pestered them to employ him in the morning.  Dr. Staines declined their services civilly but firmly, and he and Rosa looked over a quantity of furniture, and settled what sort of things to buy.

Another broker came up, and whenever the couple stopped before an article, proceeded to praise it as something most extraordinary.  Staines listened in cold, satirical silence, and told his wife, in French, to do the same.  Notwithstanding their marked disgust, the impudent, intrusive fellow stuck to them, and forced his venal criticism on them, and made them uncomfortable, and shortened their tour of observation.

“I think I shall come with you to-morrow,” said Christopher, “or I shall have these blackguards pestering you.”

“Oh, Florry will send them to the right-about.  She is as brave as a lion.”

Next day Dr. Staines was sent for into the City at twelve to pay the money and receive the lease of the Bijou, and this and the taking possession occupied him till four o’clock, when he came to his hotel.

Meantime, his wife and Mrs. Cole had gone to the auction-room.

It was a large room, with a good sprinkling of people, but not crowded except about the table.  At the head of this table—­full twenty feet long—­was the auctioneer’s pulpit, and the lots were brought in turn to the other end of the table for sight and sale.

“We must try and get a seat,” said the enterprising Mrs. Cole, and pushed boldly in; the timid Rosa followed strictly in her wake, and so evaded the human waves her leader clove.  They were importuned at every step by brokers thrusting catalogues on them, with offers of their services, yet they soon got to the table.  A gentleman resigned one chair, a broker another, and they were seated.

Mrs. Staines let down half her veil, but Mrs. Cole surveyed the company point-blank.

The broker who had given up his seat, and now stood behind Rosa, offered her his catalogue.  “No, thank you,” said Rosa; “I have one;” and she produced it, and studied it, yet managed to look furtively at the company.