He drew out another case as they stood alone in the front room.
“There’s a set of pearls, sir. There’s lustre and regularity. Two fifty guineas, Denville.”
“But, my dear Barclay,” said the host, striving to recover his equanimity, “why have you brought those here?”
“Why have I brought ’em? Don’t you know? Well, I’ll tell you. Old Carboro’ wants to pay a delicate attention to a lady he admires, and he bade me bring two or three things here to choose from. I mean to sell old Drelincourt the one he does not take. Look, I’ve two more lots.”
“But, my dear Barclay, surely you will not attempt to sell or barter here—in my house,” said Denville piteously.
“Not try? Oh, won’t I, though! Why, my dear Denville, you don’t suppose I came to waste time, do you? Not I.”
There was an announcement here, and Denville had to hide the feeling of annoyance mingled with pleasure that came upon him, for there could be no doubt in his own mind for whom the jewels were intended.
How would Claire treat the offer?
The guests began to arrive fast now, and the shabbiness of the candle-decked room was soon turned into a suitably subdued setting to the rich dresses which Mrs Barclay scanned in turn, and decided were not so good as her own.
The incident about the jewels troubled Denville more and more, and he found himself glancing from time to time at the beautiful woman in her simple, pearl-tinted satin, who was doing the honours of his house so gracefully.