but my own. I can grub about low shops all day, and go to sales at
Christie's. What fun."

Urquhart said, "You'd better begin on Leslie. You're exactly what he
wants."

"Who's Leslie?" Peter was eating buns and marmalade, in restored spirits.

"Leslie's an Ignorant Rich. He's a Hebrew. His parents weren't called
Leslie, but never mind. Leslie rolls. He also bounds, but not
aggressively high. One can quite stand him; in fact, he has his good
points. He's rich but eager. Also he doesn't know a good thing when he
sees it. He lacks your discerning eye, Margery. But such is his eagerness
that he is determined to have good things, even though he doesn't know
them when he sees them. He would like to be a connoisseur--a collector of
world-wide fame. He would like to fill his house with things that would
make people open their eyes and whistle. But at present he's got no guide
but price and his own pure taste. Consequently he gets hopelessly let in,
and people whistle, but not in the way he wants. He's quite frank; he
told me all about it. What he wants is a man with a good eye, to do his
shopping for him. It would be an ideal berth for a man with the desire
but not the power to purchase; a unique partnership of talent with
capital. There you are. You supply the talent. He'd take you on, for
certain. It would be a very nice little job for you to begin with. By
the time you've decorated his town house and his country seat and his
shooting-box and all his other residences, you'll be fairly started in
your profession. I'll write to him about you."

Peter chuckled. "How frightfully funny, though. I wonder why anyone
should want to have things unless they like to have them for themselves.