"Oh! Barbara, fie!" cried Prue, to whom the picture of Robin under the influence of another woman's fascinations was far from agreeable.
"It is condescension enough for you to save his life—"
"Condescension i' faith," laughed Barbara. "At least I can promise that my condescension shall end—where charity begins—at home! Eh, Prue? Well, I hear my new retainer in the hall, so fare thee well, dear Gossip," and with a kiss on either cheek, she rustled out and was respectfully assisted into her chair by Robin, who then took Thomas' vacant place at the rear pole.
The street was thronged with the equipages of Prue's visitors and, mingling with the crowd, Lord Beachcombe, closely followed by half-a-dozen lusty fellows, exchanged greetings here and there, without relaxing his vigilant watch upon the entrance. He scarcely vouchsafed a glance toward Lady Barbara, and as she swung past him in her gorgeous sedan-chair, with her four tall chairmen at full trot, she was so elated that she had half a mind to stop and speak to him. But wisdom prevailed with her, for once, and she contented herself with waving her jeweled fan in saucy greeting. He responded with a careless wave of the hand, and the next minute she was out of sight.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE PARSON SELLS A SECRET
As the afternoon progressed, Lady Drumloch's little house filled to overflowing. Reports of the adventures of the diamond necklace had brought a crowd of flattering, envious and above all, curious acquaintances round the dainty table where the cousins dispensed chocolate and coquetry.
Some vague rumors had reached Lady Drumloch, through Lowton, of a nocturnal exploit by which Prue had distinguished herself in some mysterious way, but she was in absolute ignorance of the actual facts, and had great difficulty in controlling her own curiosity, while maintaining an appearance of urbane indifference under the cross-fire of questions, congratulations, thinly veiled censure and half-incredulous comment by which the guests displayed their varied interest. It was in vain that Peggie used her ready wit to turn the conversation into safer channels; in vain that Prue vowed the whole thing a ridiculous exaggeration, and refused to be made a heroine or to be coaxed or goaded into compromising admissions. The necklace, she declared, had been accidentally carried away by some person employed at Marlborough House, who, becoming terrified by the possession of the dangerous treasure and wishing to be rid of it, had conveyed it to her as a sure means of getting it back to the rightful owner; that she had brought it to the duchess and together they had returned it to the queen; and there, so far as she was concerned, Prue regarded the incident as closed, and was quite tired of answering silly questions and explaining things that really needed no explanation. Would they please not worry her about it any more, but talk of something else?
Still, it was not easy to change the current of conversation, for each new-comer had some fresh rumor to be contradicted, some new extravagance to be laughed at or some malicious inference to be drawn from Prue's unwonted reserve, and her grandmother's ill-concealed annoyance.
But if the afternoon wore away slowly to Peggie and Prue, it was a long-drawn torture to Lord Beachcombe, whose watch upon the house was never relaxed, notwithstanding the gibes of the gay throng as it passed in and out, marveling what kept Prue's quondam lover hanging round Lady Drumloch's door, and the rising murmurs of his followers, whose numbers had been reinforced by numerous loungers on the lookout for mischief or profit.