And Jose Querida knew perfectly well what the rents were.
"Such a funny time to come to see me," she had said laughingly over the telephone; "I'm in a dreadful state with skirts pinned up and a motor-bonnet over my hair, but I will _not_ permit my maids to touch the porcelains; and if you really wish to see me, come ahead." He really wished to.

Besides he adored her Ming porcelains and her Celedon, and the idea of any maid touching them almost gave him heart-failure.

He himself possessed one piece of Ming and a broken fragment of Celedon.

Women had been married for less.
She was very charming in her pinned-up skirts and her dainty head-gear, and she welcomed him and intrusted him with specimens which sent pleasant shivers down his flexible spine.
And, together, they put away many scores of specimens which were actually priceless, inasmuch as any rumour of a public sale would have excited amateurs to the verge of lunacy, and almost any psychopathic might have established a new record for madness at an auction of this matchless collection.
They breathed easier when the thrilling task was ended; but emotion still enchained them as they seated themselves at a tea-table--an emotion so deep on Helene's part that she suffered Querida to retain the tips of her fingers for an appreciable moment when transferring sugar to his cup.

And she listened, with a smile almost tremulous, to the fascinating music of his voice, charmingly attuned and modulated to a pitch which, somehow, seemed to harmonise with the very word, Celedon.
"I am so surprised," she said softly--but his dark eyes noted that she was still busy with her tea paraphernalia--"I scarcely know what to think, Mr.Querida--" "Think that I love you--" breathed Querida, his dark and beautiful head very near to her blond one.
"I--am--thinking of it....