The Master of the Ceremonies Part 28

"Don't be a fool, mother," said Cora. "I don't want to quarrel, I tell you, so hold your tongue."

"After the way I've brought her up, too," howled Mrs Dean--softly, so that the sound should not be heard downstairs.

"After the way you've brought me up!" cried Cora fiercely. "Yes; brought me up to be sneered at by every lady I meet--brought me up so that I hate myself, and long sometimes to be one of the poor women we see knitting stockings on the beach."

"Don't be a fool, Cory, my handsome, beautiful gal," cried Mrs Dean, suddenly starting up in her seat, dry-eyed and forgetful of her grief.

"How can you be so stupid!"

"Stupid!" cried Cora bitterly. "Is it stupid to wish myself a woman that some true-hearted man could love, instead of looking forward to a life of acting."

"Oh, how you do go on to be sure. I am surprised at you, Cory. I know what you'd say about the life as them leads as ar'n't in the profession, but don't you be a fool, Betsy. 'Your face is your fortune, sir, she said,' as the song says; working your fingers to the bone won't keep you out of the workus. Don't tell me. I know. I've known them as has tried it. Let them work as likes. I like a cutlet and a gla.s.s of fine sherry, and some well-made coffee with a noo-laid egg in it, and it ain't to be got by folks as works their fingers to the bone."

"And who wants to work their fingers to the bone, mother?" cried Cora, tearing off and flinging down her handsome feathered hat. "In every face I see there's the look--'You're only one of the stage-players--a rogue and a vagabond.' I want to lead some life for which I need not blush."

"As she needn't blush for! Oh, dear, oh, dear! When her father trod the boards and her mother was born on 'em! What a gal you are, Betsy,"

said Mrs Dean, who professed high good humour now, and she rocked herself to and fro, and pressed her hands on her knees as she laughed.

"Oh, I say, Cory, you are a one. You will act the injured fine lady in private life, my dear. Why, what a silly thing you are. Look at that hat you've chucked down. Didn't it cost five guineas?"

"Yes, mother, it cost five guineas," said Cora wearily.

"And you can have whatever you like. Oh, I say, my lovely gal, for you really are, you know, don't get into these silly fits. It's such stuff.

Why, who knows what may happen? You may be right up atop of the tree yet, and how about yon folks as pa.s.ses you by now? Why, they'll all be as civil and friendly as can be. There, there, come and kiss me, ducky, we mustn't quarrel, must we? I've got my eyes open for you, so don't, don't, there's a dear. I know what these things means--don't go chucking yourself at that young Linnell's head."

"Let Mr Linnell alone, mother."

"But I can't, my luvvy; I know too well what these things mean. Why, there was Julia Jennings as was at the Lane--it was just afore you was born. There was a dook and a couple of lords, and carridges and horses, and livery suvvants, and as many jewels and dymonds and dresses as she liked to order; and if she didn't kick 'em all over and marry a shopman, and lived poor ever after. Now do, my luvvy, be advised by me. I know what the world is, and--Gracious goodness! there's somebody coming up the stairs."

Mrs Dean threw herself into an att.i.tude meant to be easy, and Cora smoothed her knitted brows as there was a knock at the door, and, after a loud "Come in," a neat-looking maid entered.

"Mr Barclay, please, ma'am."

"Show him up, Jane," said Mrs Dean sharply; and then, as the door closed, "The old rip's come after his rent. How precious sharp he is."

"Morning, ladies," said Barclay. "I heard you were in. Glad to see you are no worse for your accident the other day."

He glanced at Cora, who bowed rather stiffly, and said "Not at all."

"I can't say that, Mr Barclay. I'm a bit shook; but, as I said to my daughter, I wasn't going to show the white feather, and the ponies go lovely now."

"Well, I'm glad of that."

"And I'm so much obliged to you for helping of me. Do you know, it was just like a scene in a piece we--er--saw once at the Lane."

"Oh, it was nothing ma'am, what I did. Miss Dean, there, she took off all the honours. No cold, I hope."

Cora did not answer.

"Plucky fellow, young Linnell; but poor, you know, poor."

"So I've heard," said Mrs Dean maliciously. "I was thinking of sending him ten guineas."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, ma'am," said Barclay.

"Oh, well, I must say _thankye_ some other way. Very kind of you to call. I said to my daughter, 'There's Mr Barclay come for his rent,'

but I was wrong."

"Not you, ma'am," said Barclay, whose eyes were rapidly taking in the state of the room. "Business is business, you know," and he took another glance at the rich furniture and handsome mirrors of the place.

"Oh, it's all right, Mr Barclay. We're taking the greatest care of it all, and your rent's all ready for you, and always will be, of course."

"Yes, yes, I know that, ma'am. I've brought you a little receipt.

Saves trouble. Pen and ink not always ready. I keep to my days. So much pleasanter for everybody. Nice rooms, ain't they?" he added, turning to Cora.

"Yes, Mr Barclay, the rooms are very nice," she said coldly and thoughtfully.

"Anything the matter with her?" said Mr Barclay, leaning forward to Mrs Dean, and taking the money she handed in exchange for a receipt.

"Not in love, is she?"

Mrs Dean and her visitor exchanged glances, and smiled as Cora rose and walked to the window to gaze out at the sea, merely turning her head to bow distantly when the landlord rose to leave.

"I'm a regular scoundrel, 'pon my soul I am," said Josiah Barclay, rubbing his nose with the edge of a memorandum book; "but they pay very handsomely, and if I were to refuse to let a part of a house that I furnish on purpose for letting, without having the highest moral certificates of character with the people who want the rooms, I'm afraid I should never let them at all. Bah! it's no business of mine."

He went back to the front door and knocked, to be shown in directly after to where Colonel Mellersh was sitting back in his chair, having evidently just thrown down the pack of cards.

"Morning, Shylock," he said, showing his white teeth. "Want your pound of flesh again?"

"No, thank ye, Colonel; rather have the ducats. I say, though, I wish you wouldn't call me Shylock. I'm not one of the chosen, you know."

"That I'll take oath you're not, Barclay," said the Colonel, looking at his visitor with a very amused smile. "Your future is thoroughly a.s.sured. I'm sorry for you, Barclay, for I don't think you're the worst scoundrel that ever breathed."

"I say, you know, Colonel, this is too bad, you know. Come, come, come."

"Oh, I always speak plainly to you, Barclay. Let me see; can you let me have a hundred?"

"A hundred, Colonel?" said the other, looking up sharply; "well, yes, I think I can."

"Ah, well, I don't want it, Barclay. I know you'd be only too glad to get a good hold of me."

"Wrong, Colonel, wrong," said Barclay, chuckling as he glanced at the cards. "You do me too much good for that."

"Do I?" said the Colonel, smiling in a peculiarly cynical way. "Well, perhaps I do influence your market a little. There," he said, taking some notes from his little pocket-book, and handing them to his visitor, "now we are free once more."

"Thankye, Colonel, thankye. You're a capital tenant. I say, by the way, after all these years, I shouldn't like to do anything to annoy you: I hope you don't mind the actors upstairs."

"No," said the Colonel, staring at him.

"Because if you did complain, and were not satisfied, I'd make a change, you know."

"Don't trouble the women for my sake," said the Colonel gruffly. "Look here, Barclay, how would you play this hand?"