"What is all this about?" demanded Alan quietly. "Is this your brother, Mrs. Warrender?"
"To my shame, sir, I confess this--this creature"--Mrs. Warrender brought out the word with a hiss--"this degraded beast, is my brother."
"Oh, Clara Maria, how can you----"
"Hold your tongue!" interrupted the lady angrily. "You were always a drunkard and a scoundrel! Now you've come to blackmailing! Two hundred pounds from me, you wretch! Not one sixpence!"
"I have already," said her brother majestically, "arranged pecuniary matters with my friend Mr. Thorold. But I wonder at you, Clara Maria, I really do, considering how we parted. Is this the greeting of flesh and blood?" cried Mr. Gramp in a soaring voice, and standing on tiptoe. "Is this what human nature is made of? The late Sir Isaac Newton was a prophet indeed when he made that remark."
"Mountebank!" hissed Mrs. Warrender, curling her handsome lip.
"We were both mountebanks at one time, Mr. Thorold," he said, turning to Alan, who, in spite of his anxiety, was watching the scene with unconcealed amusement. "My sister was the celebrated Miss de Crespigny; I, the once noted actor, Vavasour Belgrave----"
"And his real name is Billy Spinks!" put in Mrs. Warrender scornfully.
"William Spinks," corrected Mr. Gramp, as it may be convenient to call him. "Billy is merely an endearing term to which, alas! your lips have long been strangers. But you needn't talk," said Cicero, becoming angry, and therewith a trifle vulgar; "your name is Clara Maria Spinks!"
"And a very good name, too," retorted the lady. "Cut the scene short, Billy."