“Hold your tongue, and don’t you let it go, old woman. Here he is.”
“Pinch of your snuff, Barclay,” said the old dandy, coming up smiling. “My compliments to you, Mrs Barclay. You look charming.”
“Oh, my lord!” said Mrs Barclay, rising to curtsey, and saying to herself, “As if I didn’t know better than that.”
“I can’t think what you were about to marry such an ugly old scoundrel as Barclay here. Have you brought anything?”
He took Barclay’s arm, and they walked into the back drawing-room, where there were a couple of card-tables.
“Dick,” said Colonel Mellersh, “old Carboro’s going to borrow money, or else—by Jove, he’s getting a present from him for your beloved.”
“I thought you were my friend, Mellersh,” said Linnell, with his brow knitting.
“So I am. Look.”
“I am not a spy,” said Linnell coldly, and he turned away.
“What have you brought?” said Lord Carboro’.