frowned and leaned forward to express his sympathetic interest in this
confidential disclosure.

"My father," she resumed, "is just as stupid as my father-in-law and they
have both continued to make us just as uncomfortable as possible. The
cause of the trouble is ridiculous. There's nothing against my husband or
me, you understand; it's simply a bitter jealousy between the two men due
to the fact that they are rival collectors."

The Hopper stared blankly. The only collectors with whom he had enjoyed
any acquaintance were persons who presented bills for payment.

"They are collectors," Muriel hastened to explain, "of ceramics--precious
porcelains and that sort of thing."

"Yes'm," assented The Hopper, who hadn't the faintest notion of what she
meant.

"For years, whenever there have been important sales of these things,
which men fight for and are willing to die for--whenever there has been
something specially fine in the market, my father-in-law--he's Mr.
Talbot--and Mr. Wilton--he's my father--have bid for them. There are
auctions, you know, and people come from all over the world looking for a
chance to buy the rarest pieces. They've explored China and Japan hunting
for prizes and they are experts--men of rare taste and judgment--what you
call connoisseurs."

The Hopper nodded gravely at the unfamiliar word, convinced that not only
were Muriel and her husband quite insane, but that they had inherited the
infirmity.