The Master of the Ceremonies Part 96

"Miss Denville was here a short time since."

"And has gone?" said Denville nervously. "She--she--is coming back here?"

"I think so. Yes, I believe my wife said she was; but, hang it, Denville, why don't you speak out, man? What's the matter? Perhaps I can help you."

"Help me?" faltered the miserable man. "No; it is not a case where money could a.s.sist me."

"Money, sir! I offered the help of a friend," said Barclay warmly.

"Come, speak out. You are in trouble."

Denville looked at him hesitatingly, but did not speak.

"I don't ask for your confidence," said Barclay, "but you have done me more than one good turn, Denville, and I want to help you if I can."

Still the old man hesitated; but at last he seemed to master his hesitation, and, catching the other's sleeve, he whispered:

"A scandalous place, my dear Barclay. I used to smile at these things, but of late my troubles have a good deal broken me down. I am changed.

I know everybody, but I have no friends, and--there, I confess it, I came to speak to your wife, to ask her advice and help, for at times I feel as if the kindly words and interest of some true woman would make my load easier to bear."

"Nothing like a good friend," said Barclay gruffly.

"Yes--exactly. You'll pardon me, Barclay; you have been very kind, but your manner does not invite confidence. I feel that I cannot speak to you as I could wish."

"Try," said Barclay, taking his hand. "Come, you are in trouble about your daughter."

"Yes," cried Denville quickly. "How did you know?"

"Never mind how I know. Now then, speak out, what do _you_ know?"

"Only that there is some fresh gossip afloat, mixing up my daughter's name with that of one of the reckless fops of this place."

"Claire Denville's?"

"Yes, my dear sir. It is most cruel. These people do not think of the agony it causes those who love their children. I heard that my child had come here--ah, here is Mrs Barclay back. My dear madam, I came to bear my daughter company home, to stay with her, and to show these wretched scandal-mongers that there is no truth in the story that has been put about."

"Have you told him, Jo-si-ah?"

"No, madam," cried Denville; "there was no need. Some cruel enemy contrived that I should hear of it--this wretched scandal. But you'll pardon me--the lies, the contemptible falsehoods of the miserable idlers who find pleasure in such stories. My daughter Claire has been maligned before. She can bear it again, and by her sweet truthfulness live down all such falsities."

"But, Mr Denville!" cried Mrs Barclay.

"Hush, ma'am, pray. A father's feelings. You'll pardon me. We can scorn these wretched attacks. My child Claire is above them. I shall take no notice; I wished, however, to be by her side. She will return here, you say?"

"Yes, yes, my dear good man," cried Mrs Barclay; "but you are blinding yourself to the truth."

"No, ma'am, you'll pardon me. My eyes have long been open to the truth.

I know. They say that my dear child Claire is to elope to-night with Sir Harry Payne. I had a letter from some busybody to that effect; but it is not true. I say it is not true."

"No, Mr Denville, it is not true," cried Mrs Barclay warmly. "Our dear Claire--your dear Claire--is too good a girl, and the wretches who put this about ought to be punished. It is not dear Claire who is believed to be going to-night, but--"

"You'll pardon me," cried Denville, turning greyer, and with a curious sunken look about his eyes. "Not a word, please. The scandal is against some one else? I will not hear it, ma'am. Mrs Barclay, I will not know. Life is too short to mix ourselves up with these miserable scandals. I will not wait, Barclay. It is growing late. I shall probably meet my daughter, and take her back. If I do not, and she should come here, might I ask you to see her home?"

"Yes, Denville, yes; but, look here, we have something to tell you.

Wife, it is more a woman's work. You can do it more kindly than I."

"You'll pardon me," said Denville, looking from one to the other, and smiling feebly. "Some fresh story about my daughter? Is it not so, Mrs Barclay?"

"Yes, yes, Mr Denville," she whispered; "and you ought to know, though I was going to leave my Jo-si-ah to tell you."

"Always good and kind to me and my family, dear Mrs Barclay," said Denville, smiling, and bending over the plump hand he took, to kiss it, with chivalrous respect. "But no--no more tales, my dear madam; the chronicles of Saltinville are too full of scandals. No, no, my dear Mrs Barclay; my unfortunate house can live it down."

He drew himself up, took a pinch of snuff with all the refined style and air of the greatest buck of the time, and handed his box to Barclay, who took it, mechanically helped himself noisily, and handed it back.

"The old man's half mad," he muttered, as he looked at him.

"But Mr Denville," cried Mrs Barclay pleadingly; "you ought to know-- you must know."

"Nonsense, madam, nonsense!" cried Denville, with his most artificial manner reigning supreme, as he flicked away a tiny speck of dust from his frill. "We can laugh at these things--we elderly people, and treat them as they deserve."

"But, Mr Denville--"

"No, dear madam, no; I protest," he continued, almost playfully.

"Jo-si-ah, time's flying," cried Mrs Barclay, in a pathetic manner that was absolutely comic. "What _am_ I to say to this man?"

"Tell him," said Barclay sternly.

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs Barclay, with a long sigh, as if she shrank from her task. "It must be done. Dear Mr Denville, I don't like telling you, but Mrs Burnett--"

Denville reeled, and caught at Barclay's arm.

"Hold up, old fellow! Be a man," cried the money-lender, supporting him.

The old man recovered himself, and stood up very erect, turning for a moment resentfully on Barclay, as if angry that he should have dared to touch him. Then, looking fiercely at Mrs Barclay:

"Hush, ma'am!" he cried. "Shame, shame! How can you--you who are so true and tender-hearted--let yourself be the mouthpiece of this wretched crew?"

"But indeed, Mr Denville--"

"Oh, hush, ma'am, hush! You, who know the people so well. Mrs Burnett--my dear sweet child, May--the idol of my very life--to be made the b.u.t.t now at which these wretches shoot their venomous shafts.

Scandals, madam; scandals, Barclay. Coinages from the very pit. A true, sweet lady, sir. Bright as a bird. Sweet as some opening flower.

And they dare to malign her with her bright, merry, innocent ways--that sweet young girl wife. Oh, shame! Shame upon them! Shame!"

"Oh, Denville, Denville," said Barclay softly, as he laid his hand upon the old man's shoulder.

"Ah!" he cried, "even you pity me for this. Dear Mrs Barclay, I ought to be angry with you: but no, I will not. You mean so well. But it is all I have--in a life so full of pain and suffering that I wonder how I live--the love of my daughters--them to defend against the world.

Madam, you are mistaken. My daughter--an English lady--as pure as heaven. But I thank you--I am not angry--you mean well. Always kind and helpful to my dear child, Claire. Ha, ha, ha!"