“Hallo!” he muttered, “Payne after that little strawberry cream of a woman. We shall have a scandal there, as sure as fate, and—good girl, she sees through her and cuts the enemy out. Claire, my dear, you are indeed a little queen among women. I’ve never given you half the credit you deserve, and—damme!—never!—yes—no—yes!—the scoundrel! Well, that comes of reckless play. Curse it all, there must not be such a scandal as this. Where’s Denville?”
He looked round, but the Master of the Ceremonies had not returned with Mrs Barclay.
Everybody was fully engaged, laughing, flirting, or card-playing. Assignations were being made; money was changing hands, and the candles were burning down and guttering at the sides, as Lord Carboro’ exclaimed:
“Hang it! I did not think he could stoop to be such a scoundrel as that!”
Volume Two—Chapter Thirteen.
Major Rockley’s Mistake.
“Now, Barclay, you are a wicked flatterer,” said Lady Drelincourt, as she sat out in the balcony, with the money-lender leaning over her after leading her there and placing a chair.
“I shall risk being rude in my rough way,” said Barclay in a low voice, “and repeat my words. I said those lustrous diamonds would look perfect on your ladyship’s beautiful throat.”