The Master of the Ceremonies Part 61

"Indeed, there is nothing to forgive, my dear Mrs Barclay. It was natural that you should be indignant," said Denville politely.

"Thank you very much for saying so, but it's always the way if I go out, and I shouldn't be at all surprised if there's something else wrong,"

cried Mrs Barclay piteously. "I'm a most unfortunate creature."

"There, put on your things and let's go," said Barclay huffily. "Give me that case. I'll carry it now, or you'll lose that."

Mrs Barclay began to thrust her hand into her pocket, and Denville was talking to his son-in-law at the other end of the room, while Claire bent over and kissed her sister.

"Are you better now, dear?"

"No-o! Oh, my head!--my head!"

"My darling!" cried Burnett, coming back and bringing with him a strong smell of cigars and bad wine.

"Don't, Frank. Don't you see how ill I am?"

"Yes, yes, my own, but the carriage is waiting. Let me help you down, and let's go home."

"Oh! My gracious! Oh!" shrieked Mrs Barclay.

"Oh!--oh!--oh!--oh!" sobbed May Burnett, again in a worse fit than before.

"Now you've done it again," cried Barclay angrily. "There never was such a woman. Here, come along home."

"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 att.i.tude, 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."

"Coa.r.s.e, 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.

"Yes," said Burnett; "they're a rough couple. Come, May, no nonsense.

Get up. I'm not going to have my horses kept waiting all night."

May made an effort to rise, but sank back, sobbing hysterically:

"My head!--my head!"

"Here, give her some brandy, Claire," cried Burnett.

"No, no, no. It makes it worse."

"Well, it will be better to-morrow. Come along."

"No, no, I cannot bear it. Oh, my head!--my head!"

"Let me bathe it with the eau de Cologne," said Claire tenderly.

"No, no. I cannot bear it."

"Then come home," cried Burnett.

"No, no," moaned his wife. "I'm so ill--so ill. Papa--couldn't I stay here to-night--my own old little room?"

"Yes, yes, my darling," said Denville tenderly.

"I am so ill, papa. My head throbs so if I move it."

"Let her stay, Frank," said Claire sympathisingly.

"Not I. What! go home without her? I'll be hanged if I do!" cried Burnett pettishly. "She'll be all right as soon as she gets out into the air. Now, May, jump up."

He caught her by the arm, but May uttered a wail.

"Frank, dear, you are cruel," said Claire.

"You mind your own business," said the irritable little fellow sharply.

"She has got to come home with me."

"I--I--I can't, Frank. I am so ill."

"Nonsense! Sick headache. I often have them. You've taken too much wine."

"She has not had any, Frank," said Claire indignantly.

"Then she ought to have had some. That's the reason. You hold your tongue. Now, madam, jump up."

The MC had stood looking on, with his face working, but saying no word till now that Burnett caught his wife roughly by both hands and tried to pull her to her feet.

"Stop!" he cried firmly. "Really, Frank Burnett, you are ungentle in the extreme."

"Here, I know what I'm doing," he retorted. "She's my wife."

"And she's my daughter, sir," cried Denville haughtily; "and while I am by no half-tipsy man shall insult her."