The Master of the Ceremonies had the deciding who should be in society, and who should not; and here he was making a stand when Lord Carboro’ came up—it was on the pier—and was appealed to by Mrs Pontardent.
“Oh, yes, Denville,” he said good-humouredly; “ask Mrs and Miss Dean.”
The Master of the Ceremonies ruled the roost, but he was everybody’s slave; and, in this case, the only way out of the difficulty after they had been neglected so long was to call with Claire and invite them personally.
“If you wish it, papa,” Claire said, when spoken to on the subject.
“I do not, my dear,” he replied, with a sigh. “My position compels it.”
They went trembling: Claire in agony lest she should encounter Richard Linnell; her father about the expenses into which he was drifting, for the tradespeople were giving him broad hints, especially the confectioner, that money must be forthcoming if the refreshments were to be supplied.
Cora Dean’s eyes flashed with pride and jealousy as the visitors were shown in, but she received Claire courteously, and the wonderfully different pair were left together by the open window, while Mrs Dean drew the Master of the Ceremonies aside.
“I am pleased, Mr Denville,” she whispered. “This is real good of you. I knew you would get us into society at last. Mrs Pontardent has been very kind, but she ain’t everybody. I wanted my Bet—my Cora—to meet my Lady Drelincourt and the other big ones. After this, of course, it’s all plain sailing, and we shall go on. I say, just look at ’em.”
Denville turned with a sigh towards the bay window where Claire and Cora were seated, talking quietly, but with eyes that seemed to fight and fence, as if each feared the other.
“You go into a many houses and don’t see such a pair as that.”