The Master of the Ceremonies

“Cory!”

“I tell you that every word he spoke to me in his mocking gallant way was an insult, and made my fingers tingle and my face burn. Mother, I’ve found out that there are two classes of men in the world.”

“Oh, my gracious! now she’s off again,” sighed Mrs Dean.

“There are those who naturally honour and respect woman with all the manly chivalry of their nature, and those who look upon her as a being several degrees lower than themselves. Mother, that man made me feel to-night as if I could kill him.”

“Oh dear; oh dear!” sighed Mrs Dean in a whisper to her daughter, “if this is coming into society, and you are going on talking in that savage way, we had better stop at home. I expect you snubbed the Major in that orty way of yours, and he has gone after that chit of Denville’s.”

“Where? Has he mother?” cried Cora, in an excited whisper.

“Yes; he is bending over her and making big eyes at her. I say, he is a handsome man, Cory, and if I know anything, he’s regularly took with her.”

“Are you sure, mother?”

“Sure? Just as if I couldn’t tell in a moment. You might get him away from her if you liked, I dare say. Look at that.”

She drew back a little that her child might see where Rockley was speaking in a markedly deferential manner to Claire; and Cora’s colour went and came, and her bosom heaved in unison.

“Bless your ’art, Cory, I ain’t lived to my age without picking up a little. Why, since I’ve been sitting here to-night I’ve picked up no end, and if I was a scandalous old woman I could make any amount of mischief.”

Cora did not answer, for just then Lord Carboro’ came up.

“Let me take you down to have a jelly, Miss Dean,” he said.

Cora looked up at him and was about to refuse; but there was such a quiet, respectful look in the old man’s eyes that she took his arm.

“I’ll come and fetch you afterwards, Mrs Dean,” he said and they crossed the room.

“There,” said Mrs Dean. “Now I’m a happy woman. It might be after all. Countess – not a Shakespeare countess or duchess for six nights only, as it says in the bills, but altogether. Hah, I paid for this party, and I don’t grudge the money, and Denville’s made himself a friend. I was going to say to my gal: there’s that Sir Matthew Bray making up to old Lady Drelincourt, and that Sir Harry Payne to Mrs Burnett, and Major Rockley to Claire Denville, and young Linnell as jealous as can be. And now, to top off with and finish the scene, Lord Carboro’ comes and takes off my Cora. Well, we’re in society at last.”

“Look here, old woman, this bracelet case is banging against my leg horribly, and if I have two things old Drelincourt will hesitate between them and take neither. If I’ve only one she may take it. I think I can get her alone now. Here, slip this into your pocket.”

“Oh, but Jo-si-ah, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, stupid; you’ve got lots of room. Here, I want to clear my expenses to-night.”

“Why, you have, Jo-si-ah.”

“Pooh! That’s nothing. Here, catch hold.”

He slipped the case into his wife’s hand, and she took it and passed it under a fold of her satin dress.

Barclay strolled away to try and get hold of Lady Drelincourt, and just then Denville came up.

“My dear Mrs Barclay,” he said, “you have been sitting all alone so long, and I could not get to you, and poor Claire is so busy.”

“Oh, don’t you mind me, Mr Denville. I’m nobody.”

“But you must be faint.”

“Well, since you put it like that, Mr Denville, I really have got such a dreadful feeling of sinking inside me that if it was only a sangwidge and a glass of sherry, I’d say bless you.”

“Come then, my dear madam,” said Denville. “This way.”

She rose and took the offered arm, and Lord Carboro’ smiled as the florid little woman went by him. Then he drew back by a curtain, and began taking snuff and watching Claire, as she now stood still, and he saw her meet Linnell’s eyes just as Rockley, who had been watching his opportunity, was going up to her.

Linnell looked at her with eyes that said, “May I come?” and he read that long, calm, trustful gaze to say “Yes.”

“Very nicely done. In a sweet maidenly way,” said Lord Carboro’. “How cleverly a woman can do that sort of thing, making one man a shield against another. By George! she is a queen – a woman of whom a man might be proud.”

Rockley went scowling back, and threw himself on the seat where Mrs Barclay had been; and from where he stood Lord Carboro’ looked at him sneeringly.

“Old, worn out, withered as I am, handsome Rockley, if Claire Denville became my wife, I shouldn’t care a snap for you. Ugh! why, I must be standing just where old Teigne was smothered. How horrible! Pish, what matters! Why should I care, when her dear sister is laughing and showing her false teeth there just where the foot of the bedstead used to be. Sweet girlish creature; she’s ogling that fat dragoon, and she’ll marry him if she can.”

He took another pinch of snuff.

“Hallo!” he muttered, “Payne after that little strawberry cream of a woman. We shall have a scandal there, as sure as fate, and – good girl, she sees through her and cuts the enemy out. Claire, my dear, you are indeed a little queen among women. I’ve never given you half the credit you deserve, and – damme! – never! – yes – no – yes! – the scoundrel! Well, that comes of reckless play. Curse it all, there must not be such a scandal as this. Where’s Denville?”

He looked round, but the Master of the Ceremonies had not returned with Mrs Barclay.

Everybody was fully engaged, laughing, flirting, or card-playing. Assignations were being made; money was changing hands, and the candles were burning down and guttering at the sides, as Lord Carboro’ exclaimed:

“Hang it! I did not think he could stoop to be such a scoundrel as that!”

Volume Two – Chapter Thirteen.

Major Rockley’s Mistake

“Now, Barclay, you are a wicked flatterer,” said Lady Drelincourt, as she sat out in the balcony, with the money-lender leaning over her after leading her there and placing a chair.

“I shall risk being rude in my rough way,” said Barclay in a low voice, “and repeat my words. I said those lustrous diamonds would look perfect on your ladyship’s beautiful throat.”

“Now, you don’t mean it, Barclay. I am not so young as I was, and my throat is not beautiful now.”

“There, I’m a plain man,” said Barclay; “I’ve no time for fine sayings and polished phrases, and what I say is this: I know your ladyship must be forty.”

“Yes, Barclay, I am,” said Lady Drelincourt, with a sigh.

“I’m fifty-five,” he said, “and what I say is, how a woman with a skin like yours can utter such deprecatory sentiments is a puzzle. Why, half the women here would be proud of such a skin. Look how they paint. Pah!”

“They do, Barclay; they do. Are the diamonds of good water?”

“Look,” he said, holding them before him.

“No, no; some one in the room will see.”

“I’ll take care of that, my lady. Look at them. I daren’t tell you whom they once belonged to, but they came to me through accidents at the gaming-table. They are perfect in match and size. Lady Drelincourt, you would not be doing yourself justice if you did not buy them. I wish I dare clasp them on.”