"What do you have that woman here all the time for? If she is going to spend the evening, I shall go."
"Were I Mrs. Ruggles, of Pickwick fame, I should object to my friend being called a woman," she said, half jokingly; "as it is, I——"
At this moment some pebbles were thrown against the window, cracking the glass. Mrs. Dale, now returning, said:
"What! is it the window fired at? Things are coming to a pretty pass," she said, with latent meaning; "We should have closed the shutters; don't, Elaine, I shall do it."
"I had better go out and frighten away the tramps," said Cobbe, his face flushing with angry impatience.
"Yes, Philip; if you will be so kind."
"You are a gentlemanly man, and a good looking one, Mr. Cobbe; but I don't love you," said Mrs. Dale, emphatically, shaking her clenched fist after his retreating form.
Mrs. Gower could not but smile at her little friend's vehemence, as she played with the bracelets on her shapely arms, her head bent in thought.
"Thomas is a good servant, Elaine; he has just fastened the hall door on the heels of Monsieur Cobbe; and now, ma chere, this is the time and place for confidence," she said, earnestly, while laying her jewelled fingers on her friend's brown locks.