countenance remained bland and cherubic.
“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t. That was before my friendship with Arabia began. Now, perhaps, Miss Barclay, you could start in this corner. With the grandfather clock, eh? He has chimed sixty thousand days in and out, and he still isn’t tired. That inlaid table is Chinese, and be very careful of the blue vase. It’s of the Han Dynasty. But all my things are treasures. I hate to sell them, you know.”
Indeed, it seemed that selling his stock was of secondary importance to Mr. Mullins. For Cressida found that the dusting was going to be a herculean task. Behind the larger pieces of furniture were stacked innumerable smaller pieces, and behind them again pieces of pottery and brass, glass chandeliers, Victorian china and dim old pictures in heavy frames. Cressida emerged from her investigation to ask for a smock, and then, wrapped in an old blue cotton garment that belonged to the charwoman, she plunged enthusiastically into her work. She began to make discoveries—a Rockingham tea-set pushed into a cupboard, a pair of Staffordshire china cats that were ridiculously like Mimosa in their smug erectness, and then the exquisite Dresden mirror. With this she was enchanted, and she took it into the light at the doorway to clean and polish it thoroughly. The rosy cupids tossed garlands of flowers from their dimpled hands and these wove into lovers’ knots at the base. Engrossed in her work, Cressida did not hear footsteps, and the voice above her startled her.
“Is that for sale?”
She looked up sharply and saw Jeremy Winter’s dark amused face.
“The mirror?”
“No, the face in it.”
Cressida looked down and saw her own face, her hair tousled, a smear of dust on her nose, her cheeks as rosy as the cupids’.
“Don’t be absurd,” she retorted.
“It’s the most charming upside-down face, I’m in love with it.”
“The mirror is very beautiful,” Cressida said, holding it up.
“Ah, but now it’s empty. Who wants an empty mirror? Tell me, did Tom ever see you upside down in a mirror with dust on your nose? If he did he would never let you go.”
“You can’t come here wasting my time,” Cressida said impatiently. Jeremy leaned lightly against the door.
“I’m expecting you this evening for a sitting. You will come, won’t you?”
“Certainly not,” Cressida said, polishing vigorously.
“What, after my saving your life twice yesterday?”
“Oh, please go away!” Cressida begged. “I work here, and Mr. Mullins—”
“Mr. Mullins is a friend of mine.” Jeremy waved casually to Mr. Mullins, who appeared from the back of the shop, grinned, and disappeared again tactfully. Cressida was furious with his tact. Did he think she wanted to be alone with Jeremy?
“He lends me things to sketch,” Jeremy explained. “I did those T’ang lions last week. They made a wonderful background for my subject.”
“So you think he’ll lend you me, also,” Cressida said scathingly. “And what article am I supposed to be advertising?”
“Nothing,” said Jeremy simply. “I just want to draw you for pleasure. I knew that the moment I saw you yesterday.” Then, as if ashamed of his lapse into seriousness, he added flippantly, “I won’t tell Tom.”
Cressida gave an exclamation of impatience. Jeremy touched her arm.
“Did anyone confess this morning about the fun they had playing tricks on you last night?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Mrs. Stanhope said—but I can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That Arabia does—curious things!”
“Then it must have been a poltergeist,” Jeremy said lightly. “At Lucy’s instigation.”
“Don’t be idiotic!” Cressida was surprised at her breathlessness.
“If Lucy is around,” Jeremy said seriously, “it might not be wise to use that pretty room of hers too much. She might get jealous. She might get jealous of Arabia’s affection for you, too.”
“Jeremy, that’s absurd! She’s
“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t. That was before my friendship with Arabia began. Now, perhaps, Miss Barclay, you could start in this corner. With the grandfather clock, eh? He has chimed sixty thousand days in and out, and he still isn’t tired. That inlaid table is Chinese, and be very careful of the blue vase. It’s of the Han Dynasty. But all my things are treasures. I hate to sell them, you know.”
Indeed, it seemed that selling his stock was of secondary importance to Mr. Mullins. For Cressida found that the dusting was going to be a herculean task. Behind the larger pieces of furniture were stacked innumerable smaller pieces, and behind them again pieces of pottery and brass, glass chandeliers, Victorian china and dim old pictures in heavy frames. Cressida emerged from her investigation to ask for a smock, and then, wrapped in an old blue cotton garment that belonged to the charwoman, she plunged enthusiastically into her work. She began to make discoveries—a Rockingham tea-set pushed into a cupboard, a pair of Staffordshire china cats that were ridiculously like Mimosa in their smug erectness, and then the exquisite Dresden mirror. With this she was enchanted, and she took it into the light at the doorway to clean and polish it thoroughly. The rosy cupids tossed garlands of flowers from their dimpled hands and these wove into lovers’ knots at the base. Engrossed in her work, Cressida did not hear footsteps, and the voice above her startled her.
“Is that for sale?”
She looked up sharply and saw Jeremy Winter’s dark amused face.
“The mirror?”
“No, the face in it.”
Cressida looked down and saw her own face, her hair tousled, a smear of dust on her nose, her cheeks as rosy as the cupids’.
“Don’t be absurd,” she retorted.
“It’s the most charming upside-down face, I’m in love with it.”
“The mirror is very beautiful,” Cressida said, holding it up.
“Ah, but now it’s empty. Who wants an empty mirror? Tell me, did Tom ever see you upside down in a mirror with dust on your nose? If he did he would never let you go.”
“You can’t come here wasting my time,” Cressida said impatiently. Jeremy leaned lightly against the door.
“I’m expecting you this evening for a sitting. You will come, won’t you?”
“Certainly not,” Cressida said, polishing vigorously.
“What, after my saving your life twice yesterday?”
“Oh, please go away!” Cressida begged. “I work here, and Mr. Mullins—”
“Mr. Mullins is a friend of mine.” Jeremy waved casually to Mr. Mullins, who appeared from the back of the shop, grinned, and disappeared again tactfully. Cressida was furious with his tact. Did he think she wanted to be alone with Jeremy?
“He lends me things to sketch,” Jeremy explained. “I did those T’ang lions last week. They made a wonderful background for my subject.”
“So you think he’ll lend you me, also,” Cressida said scathingly. “And what article am I supposed to be advertising?”
“Nothing,” said Jeremy simply. “I just want to draw you for pleasure. I knew that the moment I saw you yesterday.” Then, as if ashamed of his lapse into seriousness, he added flippantly, “I won’t tell Tom.”
Cressida gave an exclamation of impatience. Jeremy touched her arm.
“Did anyone confess this morning about the fun they had playing tricks on you last night?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Mrs. Stanhope said—but I can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That Arabia does—curious things!”
“Then it must have been a poltergeist,” Jeremy said lightly. “At Lucy’s instigation.”
“Don’t be idiotic!” Cressida was surprised at her breathlessness.
“If Lucy is around,” Jeremy said seriously, “it might not be wise to use that pretty room of hers too much. She might get jealous. She might get jealous of Arabia’s affection for you, too.”
“Jeremy, that’s absurd! She’s
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