Miss Billie's Decision [50]
toward the door before she spoke.
``The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!--that is, of course I must be glad. I'll get it.'' Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair. There was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
The man rose at once.
``But, madam, perhaps--don't let me--'' I he began stammeringly. ``Of course--Billy!'' he broke off in an entirely different voice. ``Jove! What a beauty!''
Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
``If you'll lift it down, please, yourself,'' motioned Mrs. Greggory. ``I don't like to--with these,'' she explained, tapping the crutches at her side.
With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
``Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real thing--the genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray--did you notice?'' he exulted, turning back to the shelf. ``You _don't_ see that every day! They get separated, most generally, you know.''
``These pieces have been in our family for generations,'' said Mrs. Greggory with an accent of pride. ``You'll find them quite perfect, I think.''
``Perfect! I should say they were,'' cried the man.
``They are, then--valuable?'' Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
``Indeed they are! But you must know that.''
``I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir.'' Again her voice broke.
William Henshaw cleared his throat.
``But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--'' He stopped abruptly. His longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
``But I do--that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and that it will bring in money; and we need--money.'' She threw a quick glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. ``I can't do much at work that pays. I sew--'' she nodded toward the machine by the window--'' but with only one foot to make it go-- You see, the other is--is inclined to shirk a little,'' she finished with a wistful whimsicality.
Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against-- she did not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot, or against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting it--if he did not buy it.
``And so you see, I do very much wish to sell,''
Mrs. Greggory said then. ``Perhaps you will tell me what it would be worth to you,'' she concluded tremulously.
The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful rapture and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he spoke.
``I have only one other in my collection as rare,'' he said. ``I paid a hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this, madam.''
Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
``A hundred dollars? So much as that?'' she cried almost joyously. ``Why, nothing else that we've had has brought-- Of course, if it's worth that to you--'' She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the hall outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who looked to be about twenty-three or twenty- four years old, burst into the room.
``Mother, only think, I've--'' She stopped, and drew back a little. Her startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She shut the door quickly and hurried forward.
``Mother, what is it? Who are these people?'' she asked sharply.
Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling which she could not name: Billy was not used to being called ``these people'' in precisely that tone of voice.
``The Lowestoft! Yes, I'm so glad!--that is, of course I must be glad. I'll get it.'' Her voice broke as she pulled herself from her chair. There was only despairing sorrow on her face now.
The man rose at once.
``But, madam, perhaps--don't let me--'' I he began stammeringly. ``Of course--Billy!'' he broke off in an entirely different voice. ``Jove! What a beauty!''
Mrs. Greggory had thrown open the door of a small cupboard near the collector's chair, disclosing on one of the shelves a beautifully shaped teapot, creamy in tint, and exquisitely decorated in a rose design. Near it set a tray-like plate of the same ware and decoration.
``If you'll lift it down, please, yourself,'' motioned Mrs. Greggory. ``I don't like to--with these,'' she explained, tapping the crutches at her side.
With fingers that were almost reverent in their appreciation, the collector reached for the teapot. His eyes sparkled.
``Billy, look, what a beauty! And it's a Lowestoft, too, the real thing--the genuine, true soft paste! And there's the tray--did you notice?'' he exulted, turning back to the shelf. ``You _don't_ see that every day! They get separated, most generally, you know.''
``These pieces have been in our family for generations,'' said Mrs. Greggory with an accent of pride. ``You'll find them quite perfect, I think.''
``Perfect! I should say they were,'' cried the man.
``They are, then--valuable?'' Mrs. Greggory's voice shook.
``Indeed they are! But you must know that.''
``I have been told so. Yet to me their chief value, of course, lies in their association. My mother and my grandmother owned that teapot, sir.'' Again her voice broke.
William Henshaw cleared his throat.
``But, madam, if you do not wish to sell--'' He stopped abruptly. His longing eyes had gone back to the enticing bit of china.
Mrs. Greggory gave a low cry.
``But I do--that is, I must. Mr. Harlow says that it is valuable, and that it will bring in money; and we need--money.'' She threw a quick glance toward the hall door, though she did not pause in her remarks. ``I can't do much at work that pays. I sew--'' she nodded toward the machine by the window--'' but with only one foot to make it go-- You see, the other is--is inclined to shirk a little,'' she finished with a wistful whimsicality.
Billy turned away sharply. There was a lump in her throat and a smart in her eyes. She was conscious suddenly of a fierce anger against-- she did not know what, exactly; but she fancied it was against the teapot, or against Uncle William for wanting the teapot, or for _not_ wanting it--if he did not buy it.
``And so you see, I do very much wish to sell,''
Mrs. Greggory said then. ``Perhaps you will tell me what it would be worth to you,'' she concluded tremulously.
The collector's eyes glowed. He picked up the teapot with careful rapture and examined it. Then he turned to the tray. After a moment he spoke.
``I have only one other in my collection as rare,'' he said. ``I paid a hundred dollars for that. I shall be glad to give you the same for this, madam.''
Mrs. Greggory started visibly.
``A hundred dollars? So much as that?'' she cried almost joyously. ``Why, nothing else that we've had has brought-- Of course, if it's worth that to you--'' She paused suddenly. A quick step had sounded in the hall outside. The next moment the door flew open and a young woman, who looked to be about twenty-three or twenty- four years old, burst into the room.
``Mother, only think, I've--'' She stopped, and drew back a little. Her startled eyes went from one face to another, then dropped to the Lowestoft teapot in the man's hands. Her expression changed at once. She shut the door quickly and hurried forward.
``Mother, what is it? Who are these people?'' she asked sharply.
Billy lifted her chin the least bit. She was conscious of a feeling which she could not name: Billy was not used to being called ``these people'' in precisely that tone of voice.