“The case—the bracelet, Jo-si-ah!”
“Well. What about it?”
“I knew something would happen. I felt it coming.”
“Stop! Where’s that diamond bracelet, woman?”
“It’s gone, Jo-si-ah. I’ve lost it. It’s gone.”
“A two hundred pound bracelet, and gone!” roared Barclay. “Eh, what? Thank ye, Denville. How did you come by it?”
Denville, who was standing in a graceful attitude, smilingly offering the case, explained that Mrs Barclay had let it fall beneath the seat when she thought that she was placing it in her pocket.
“Oh, Mr Denville,” cried Mrs Barclay, “you are a dear good man!”
“Denville! Thank ye!” said Barclay, shaking hands. “You might have stuck to that, and I should have been no wiser. I shan’t forget this. Good-night, old man, good-night.”
“Coarse, but very kindly,” said Denville, after Mrs Barclay had made Claire’s face wet with tears and kisses, and he had seen the pair to the door.