“I’ll come and fetch you afterwards, Mrs Dean,” he said and they crossed the room.
“There,” said Mrs Dean. “Now I’m a happy woman. It might be after all. Countess—not a Shakespeare countess or duchess for six nights only, as it says in the bills, but altogether. Hah, I paid for this party, and I don’t grudge the money, and Denville’s made himself a friend. I was going to say to my gal: there’s that Sir Matthew Bray making up to old Lady Drelincourt, and that Sir Harry Payne to Mrs Burnett, and Major Rockley to Claire Denville, and young Linnell as jealous as can be. And now, to top off with and finish the scene, Lord Carboro’ comes and takes off my Cora. Well, we’re in society at last.”
“Look here, old woman, this bracelet case is banging against my leg horribly, and if I have two things old Drelincourt will hesitate between them and take neither. If I’ve only one she may take it. I think I can get her alone now. Here, slip this into your pocket.”
“Oh, but Jo-si-ah, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, stupid; you’ve got lots of room. Here, I want to clear my expenses to-night.”
“Why, you have, Jo-si-ah.”
“Pooh! That’s nothing. Here, catch hold.”
He slipped the case into his wife’s hand, and she took it and passed it under a fold of her satin dress.
Barclay strolled away to try and get hold of Lady Drelincourt, and just then Denville came up.
“My dear Mrs Barclay,” he said, “you have been sitting all alone so long, and I could not get to you, and poor Claire is so busy.”