"And—and Drayton—he's going to stay," and he looked very sly. "An attraction, you know, there; besides, I believe he's related—is not he?—and, of course, old Lady Alice Redcliffe stays for chaperon. A great chance for Drayton."
There was a young man at his elbow who thought Doocey the greatest coxcomb and fool on earth, except, perhaps, Drayton, and who suffered acutely and in silence under his talk.
"Drayton's very spoony on her—eh?—the young lady, Miss Marlowe—haven't you observed?" murmured old Doocey, with a sly smile, to Varbarriere.
"Very suitable it would be—fine estate, I'm told," answered Varbarriere; "and a good-looking young fellow too."
"A—rather," acquiesced Doocey. "The kind of fellow that pays very well in a ball-room; he's got a lot to say for himself."
"And good family," contributed Varbarriere, who was not sorry that old Doocey should go on lowering his extinguisher on Guy's foolish flame.
"Well—well—family, you know—there's nothing very much of that—they—they—there was—it's not the family name, you know. But no one minds family now—all money—we're a devilish deal better family, and so is Mr. Strangways here—all to nothing. I was telling him the other day who the Draytons are."
Precisely at this moment, through a half-open upper window, there issued a sudden cry, followed by sobs and women's gabble.
All stopped short—silent, and looking up—
"Some one crying," exclaimed Doocey, in an under-key.