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Mather wrinkled his nose as Ian tasted the bowl, but Ian had learned to test the genuineness of the glaze that way Mather wouldn’t be able to tell a genuine glaze if someone painted him with it

“She’s got a bloody fortune of her own,” Mather went on, “inherited froton woman, a rich old lady who didn’t keep her opinions to herself Mrs Ackerley, her quiet companion, copped the lot”

Then why is sheyou? Ian turned the bowl over in his hands as he speculated, but if Mrs Ackerley wanted to make her bed with Lyndon Mather, she could lie in it Of course, she ht find the bed a little crowded Mather kept a secret house for his mistress and several other women to cater to his needs, which he loved to boast about to Ian’s brothers I’ to say But in Ian’s opinion, Mather understood pleasures of the flesh about as well as he understood Ming porcelain “Bet you’re surprised a dedicated bachelor like myself is for the chop, eh?” Mather went on “If you’re wondering whether I’ up my bit of the other, the answer is no You are welcome to come ‘round and join in anytime, you know I’ve extended the invitation to you, and your brothers as well” Ian hadto put up with Mather’s proclivities for the ave them

Mather reached for a cigar “I say, we’re at Covent Garden Opera tonight Come meet my fiancee I’d like your opinion Everyone knows you have as exquisite taste in females as you do in porcelain” He chuckled

Ian didn’t answer He had to rescue the bowl frouineas”

“You’re a hard man, Mackenzie”

“One thousand guineas, and I’ll see you at the opera”

“Oh, very well, though you’re ruining me”

He’d ruined himself “Yourhas a fortune You’ll recover”

Mather laughed, his handsoe blush or flutter fans when Mather smiled Mather was the master of the double life “True, and she’s lovely to boot I’m a lucky man”

Mather rang for his butler and Ian’s valet, Curry Curry produced a wooden box lined with straw, into which Ian carefully placed the dragon bowl

Ian hated to cover up such beauty He touched it one last tiaze fixed on it until Curry broke his concentration by placing the lid on the box

He looked up to find that Mather had ordered the butler to pour brandy Ian accepted a glass and sat down in front of the bankbook Curry had placed on Mather’s desk for him Ian set aside the brandy and dipped his pen in the ink He bent down to write and caught sight of the droplet of black ink hanging on the nib in a perfect, round sphere He stared at the droplet, so at the perfection of the ball of ink, the glistening viscosity that held it suspended fro, a wonder

He wished he could savor its perfection forever, but he knew that in a second it would fall from the pen and be lost If his brother Mac could paint so this exquisite, this beautiful, Ian would treasure it

He had no idea how long he’d sat there studying the droplet of ink until he heard Mather say, “Damnation, he really is mad, isn’t he?”

The droplet fell down, ‘down, down to splash on the page, gone to its death in a splatter of black ink “I’ll write it out for you, then, m’lord?”

Ian looked into the ho Cockney who’d spent his boyhood pickpocketing his way across London