“Miss Yorke!”
The name caused a sensation. Heads were turned from all directions, and the Dean of Colchester and his victim hurried back to the neighborhood of the doorway where Hammond and Mauleverer were standing. At the same time Mr. Despencer slipped in from the next room, and stealthily approached the group.
“What Miss Yorke is that?” asked Mauleverer, innocently.
“The Miss Yorke, I believe, popularly known as Belle Yorke,” Despencer took it on himself to answer. He affected to keep his eyes turned away from Hammond.
“Belle Yorke!” exclaimed Mr. Septimus Jones, with enthusiasm. “Oh, I dote upon her! I think she is perfectly lovely—don’t you, Hammond?”
“Yes.”
The Dean of Colchester gave a sound like an ecclesiastical purr.
“Now, this is very fortunate! I have so often wished to see her, but, of course, I daren’t go to those places where she sings. It is so thoughtful of the marchioness to bring her here. Ahem! isn’t there something or other said about her?”
“They say plenty of things about her, but God knows how much of it is true,” remarked Mauleverer.
“Oh, but Mauleverer,” Mr. Jones burst in, “you know when people say so much it must be some of it true, mustn’t it?”