But if I were you, Mrs.Bawdrey--well, no matter.

This I promise you: that dear old man shall have no ideal shattered by me." And, living up to that promise, he enthused over everything the old man had in his collection when, after dinner that night, they went, in company with Philip, to view it.

But bogus things were on every hand.
Spurious porcelains, fraudulent armour, faked china were everywhere.

The loaded cabinets and the glazed cases were one long procession of faked Dresden and bogus faience, of Egyptian enamels that had been manufactured in Birmingham, and of sixth-century "treasures" whose makers were still plying their trade and battening upon the ignorance of such collectors as he.
"Now, here's a thing I am particularly proud of," said the gulled old man, reaching into one of the cases and holding out for Cleek's admiration an irregular disc of dull, hammered gold that had an iridescent beetle embedded in the flat face of it.

"This scarab, Mr.
Rickaby, has helped to make history, as one might say.