The Master of the Ceremonies Part 95

"Nonsense, Jo-si-ah! Do you mean to tell me--now, how can you? Why, we've been married over thirty years, and that wicked little hussy isn't above twenty. How can you talk such stuff?"

"You set me going," he said grimly. "You talked as if May Burnett must be my own flesh and blood."

"I didn't, Jo-si-ah. What do you mean?"

"Why you want me to mix myself up in this miserable scandal over a wretched, frivolous, heartless wench, spend my hard-earned money, and let you go off on a sort of wild goose chase with her and Claire Denville. I thought you had found out that she really was my own flesh and blood."

Mrs Barclay wiped her eyes, and indulged in one of her laughs--a blancmange sort of laugh--as she sat back in the chair vibrating and undulating all over, while her husband watched her with the most uncompromising of aspects till she rose.

"What a man you are," she said at last. "But there, don't let's waste time. You will help us, dear, won't you?"

"Us?"

"Yes; _us_, Josiah. Don't you think what I have proposed is the best?"

"Well, yes," he said slowly. "I do not think I could suggest anything better."

"I _am_ glad," she said. "Then send Joseph at once, and take three seats for London."

"You mean to go, then?"

"Yes, dear, of course."

"And what's to become of me?"

"You will stop and see Mr Burnett, and this Mr Gravani, and poor Mr Denville, and settle the matter the best way you can."

"For May Burnett's sake?"

"No, dear: for mine and poor Claire Denville's; and look here, Jo-si-ah, you just beg her pardon, sir."

"If I do I'll be--"

"Hush! Stop, sir. I don't mean to her. Now, just you own that you have misjudged her."

"Humph! Well, perhaps I have."

"That's right, dear; and you will do your best now, won't you?"

"I tell you what, woman; I've read about men being fooled by their wives and turned round the thumb; but the way you turn me round beats everything I ever did read."

"Yes," she said, nestling to his side. "I like turning you round my thumb, dear; and let's always go on to the end just the same, Jo-si-ah; and you'll let me try to do some good."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Barclay, in his grimmest manner. "But, don't you see, old lady, that this May Burnett is a worthless sort of baggage?"

"I can't see anything, dear, only that poor Claire Denville, whom I love very much, is in great trouble, and that we are wasting time."

"Wasting love, you mean," cried Barclay. "If you've got so much love to spare, why don't you pour it on my devoted head, to wash away some of the hate which people bestow upon me?"

"Jo-si-ah dear! Please."

"All right," he said grimly. "I'll do it, old lady. Let's see; the coach goes at half-past eleven. You've plenty of time. I'll send Joseph. But tell me, where are you going?"

"To the Bell, in Holborn, dear, for the first day. Then I shall take apartments somewhere till it is all settled."

"But the expense, woman?"

"I've plenty of jewels, dear. Shall I sell something?"

"Yes, you'd better!" he said grimly. "There, I suppose you must do as you like."

She nodded and kissed him affectionately, while he seemed to look less firm in the pleasant light shed by her eyes as he handed her the keys of his cash-box.

"Now then, dear," she said, "business. Bless us! Who's that?"

There was a sharp rolling knock at the door, and they stood listening.

"I hope we're not too late, dear," whispered Mrs Barclay excitedly.

"Denville's voice for a guinea," cried Barclay.

"Then you can tell him all, and you two can go and stop any attempt the silly little woman may make to run away."

"Mr Denville, sir," said Joseph, ushering in the Master of the Ceremonies, very pale and careworn under his smiling guise, as he minced into the room, hat in one hand, snuff-box in the other, and his cane hanging by its silken cord and ta.s.sels from his wrist.

"My dear Mrs Barclay, your very humble servant. My dear Barclay, yours. It seems an age since we met."

"Oh, poor dear man!" sighed Mrs Barclay to herself. "He can't know a word."

She exchanged glances with Barclay, who gave her a nod.

"You will excuse me, Mr Denville," she said. "A little business to attend to. I'll come back and see you before you go."

"I should apologise," said Denville, smiling and bowing as he hastened to open the door for her to pa.s.s out; and as he closed it he groaned as he said to himself:

"She does not ask after my children."

"Sit down, Denville," said Barclay; "you've come to pay me some money, eh?"

"Well--er--the fact is--no, Barclay, not just at present. I must ask you to give me a little more time. Morton, my son, you see, is only just launched. He is getting on, but at present I must ask a little forbearance. Interest, of course, but you will wait a little longer?"

"Humph! Well, I suppose I must, and--come, Denville, out with it.

What's the matter, man? Some fresh trouble?"

Denville had been playing uneasily with his snuff-box, and taking up and setting down his hat, glancing nervously about the room. As Barclay spoke in this abrupt way to him, he started and stared wildly at the speaker.

"Oh! nothing, nothing," he said, smiling. "I was only coming this way.

Ha--ha--ha! my dear Barclay, you thought I wanted a little accommodation. No, no, not this time. The fact is, I understood that my daughter, Miss Denville, had come on here. I expected to find her with Mrs Barclay--a lady I esteem--a lady of whom my daughter always speaks most warmly. Has she--er--has she called here this evening?"