Also it was very soon clear that, independently of his special
reasons for knowing something about engraved gems and their value, he had
been, through his Oxford uncle, much brought across collectors and
collecting. He could, more or less, talk the language of the tribe, and
indeed his mere possession of the famous gems had made him, willy-nilly,
a member of it.
So that, for the first time in twenty years, Melrose found himself
provided with a listener, and a spectator who neither wanted to buy from
him nor sell to him. When a couple of vases and a statuette, captured in
Paris from some remains of the Spitzer sale, arrived at the Tower, it was
to Faversham's room that Melrose first conveyed them; and it was from
Faversham's mouth that he also, for the first time, accepted any remarks
on his purchases that were not wholly rapturous. Faversham, with the
arrogance of the amateur, thought the vases superb, and the statuette
dear at the price. Melrose allowed it to be said; and next morning the
statuette started on a return journey to Paris, and the Tower knew it no
more.
Meanwhile the old collector would appear at odd moments with a lacquered
box, or a drawer from a cabinet, and Faversham would find a languid
amusement in turning over the contents, while Melrose strolled smoking up
and down the room, telling endless stories of "finds" and bargains. Of
the store, indeed, of precious or curious objects lying heaped together
in the confusion of Melrose's den, the only treasures of a portable kind
that Faversham found any difficulty in handling were his own gems.
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