"Friends?" Richard Linnell was saying, as he stood looking earnestly at
Claire. "Nothing more?"
"No," she said, in a low, sad voice; "always, come what may, your
grateful friend."
She turned to her sister, who was watching her, and met her with:
"Claire dear, you're going mad. That man hasn't a penny."
"Well?" said Claire gravely. "And you are encouraging him."
"As you are encouraging Sir Harry Payne? No, May; you are mistaken."
"I declare if you are going to insult me I will not stay," cried May,
turning scarlet. "It is disgraceful. It is cruel. If I could only
find Frank--"
Just then a loud burst of angry voices came from one of the card-tables.
It was eleven o'clock; there had been refreshments; the room was very
hot, and the play, for ladies, high; and now the voice of the Master of
the Ceremonies was heard in protest.
"Ladies--ladies--I beg--I must request--"
"Order my carriage directly, Sir Matthew. It serves me right for coming
to such a place," cried Lady Drelincourt.
"Yes; you had no business here," cried Mrs Barclay.
"And mixing with such low people," cried Lady Drelincourt.
"Low people? Better be low than not honest."
"Oh! oh!--Denville, are you going to allow this insult to my face--from
such a woman as that?" cried Lady Drelincourt.
"Hush, ladies! Pray--pray!" cried Denville.
"Hold your tongue and come away, old lady," said Barclay, in a croaking
whisper.
"I won't, Jo-si-ah; not till she pays me my four guineas, I declare,"
cried Mrs Barclay aloud. "She's been doing nothing but cheat and rook
ever since I sat down to play."
"Sir Matthew Bray, my carriage."
"And gone on shameful, and pretending it was all mistakes. I declare
it's abominable."
"Ladies--ladies!"
"Will you be quiet, old girl? Hold your tongue."
"I will not, Josiah," cried Mrs Barclay, who, like many good-tempered,
amiable women, took a great deal to make her angry, but when she was
really excited, was not to be suppressed. "What I say is--"
"Oh--oh--oh--oh!"
A series of wild, hysterical cries from a couch in the front room, and
Claire ran gladly from the painful scene to where her sister was in a
violent hysterical fit, which, with the exit of Lady Drelincourt on Sir
Matthew Bray's arm, after a withering glance round, quite stopped Mrs
Barclay's vituperative attack.
"Think of that now," cried the latter lady. "Me again. I ought not to
come out."
"That you oughtn't," growled Barclay. "Next thing will be you've lost
that bracelet."
"Nonsense, Josiah. Let me help you, Claire dear. I am so sorry, but
that wretched cheating old woman was either kicking me under the table
in mistake for that Sir Matthew Bray, or else cheating. I am so--so
sorry. It's 'sterricks, that's what it is."
"Yes, that's what it is," said Mrs Dean; "and if I might say a word, I
should tell Mr Denville that he couldn't do better than behave like
Lady Macbeth."
"Oh, mother!" whispered Cora impatiently.
"Now what's the good of you `oh mothering' me, my dear? What could be
better than for Mr Denville to say to his guests, `Don't be on the
order of your going, but go at once'?"
"Miss Dean," said Sir Harry, "your mamma speaks the words of wisdom. It
is the wisest thing. Come, gentlemen, we can be of no service here. By
Jove, she does it to perfection."
Mrs Dean's words broke up the party, and the visitors had nearly all
gone, when, in answer to cold bathing and smelling-salts, Mrs Burnett
began to recover; and just then Frank Burnett, who had been, no one but
Isaac knew where, came up to make a fresh scene as he threw himself upon
his knees beside the couch, imploring in maudlin tones his darling May
to speak and tell him what it was.
"Oh, my head, my head!" sobbed the stricken wife. "My head, my head!"
"You'd better let her be, Mr Burnett, sir," said Mrs Barclay. "It's
my belief that quiet's the thing."
"Yes, and we'll go," said Mrs Dean. "Good-night, Miss Denville.
Good-night, Mr Denville, and thank you so much. Come, Cora, love."
Cora Dean glanced at Richard Linnell and Mellersh as she advanced to say
good-night; for they were going to the same house, and it was possible,
as the distance was short, that they would see them home.
"Good-night, Mr Denville," she said.
"We will say good-night too," said Mellersh, "unless we can be of any
use."
"Oh, no," said their host. "She will soon be better--a mere trifle."
"Yes, please let me be," said Mrs Burnett. "I shall soon be better
now."
"Good-night," said Cora, holding out her hand to the woman she told
herself she hated with all her heart.
But it was in a spirit of triumph, for Richard Linnell was going to walk
home with her.
"Good-night," said Claire, smiling in her face with a calm ingenuous
look. "I am glad we have met."
How it came about they neither of them knew, but it was Claire's
seeking; she was suffering so from that heart hunger--that painful
searching for the love and sympathy of some woman of her age, while Cora
Dean's handsome face was so near to her, and she kissed her as one
sister might another.
"Well, I never," muttered Mrs Dean as she went down the stairs. "Think
of that, and you as don't like her."
The next minute Cora Dean and her mother were walking along the Parade
with Linnell and Mellersh on either side, chatting about the evening.
"One cigar, Dick, before we go to bed," said Mellersh, when they had
been sitting together in his room for some time, after parting from
their upstairs neighbours.
"I'm willing," said Linnell, "for I feel as if I could not sleep."
They lit their cigars, let themselves out, strolled down to the edge of
the water, walked along by it in front of the Parade, and went upon the
cliff again, to go back silently along the path till they neared the
house where they had passed the evening, walking very slowly, and ending
by stopping to lean over the cliff rails and gaze out to sea.
How long this had lasted they did not know, but all at once, as Mellersh
turned, he gripped Richard Linnell by the arm and pointed.
Linnell saw it at the same moment: the figure of a man climbing over a
balcony; and as they watched they could just see the gleam of one of the
windows as it was evidently opened and he passed in.
"Dick!" whispered Mellersh; "what does that mean?"
"The same as the night that poor old woman was slain. Quick! Come on!"
"Stop!" said Mellersh. "Here's another!"
Volume Two, Chapter XV.