''And what of a pair of books, Mr Lilly,'' he says, ''sought by a single buyer? How are they to be valued?''
A pair?'' My uncle puts down his glass. ''A set, of two volumes?''♀♀
''A pair of complementary titles. A man has one, and seeks to secure the other. The second will greatly add to the value of the first?''
''Of course, sir!''
''I thought it.''
''Men pay absurdly for such things,'' says Mr Huss.
''They do,'' says my uncle. ''They do. You will find a reference to such matters, of course, in my Index ..."
''The Index,'' says Mr Rivers softly; and the others talk on. We sit and listen—or pretend to—and soon he turns and studies my face. ''May I ask you something, Miss Lilly?'' he says. And then, when I nod: ''What do you see, for yourself, after the completion of your uncle''s work?—Now, why do you do that?''
I have given him what I suppose must be a bitter sort of smile. I say, ''Your question means nothing, I can hardly answer it. My uncle''s work will never be finished. There are too many new books written that must be added to the old; too many lost books to be rediscovered; too much uncertainty. He and Mr Hawtrey will