The Master of the Ceremonies ruled the roost, but he was everybody's slave; and, in this case, the only way out of the difficulty after they had been neglected so long was to call with Claire and invite them personally. "If you wish it, papa," Claire said, when spoken to on the subject. "I do not, my dear," he replied, with a sigh. "My position compels it." They went trembling: Claire in agony lest she should encounter Richard Linnell; her father about the expenses into which he was drifting, for the tradespeople were giving him broad hints, especially the confectioner, that money must be forthcoming if the refreshments were to be supplied. Cora Dean's eyes flashed with pride and jealousy as the visitors were shown in, but she received Claire courteously, and the wonderfully different pair were left together by the open window, while Mrs Dean drew the Master of the Ceremonies aside. "I am pleased, Mr Denville," she whispered. "This is real good of you. I knew you would get us into society at last. Mrs Pontardent has been very kind, but she ain't everybody. I wanted my Bet--my Cora--to meet my Lady Drelincourt and the other big ones. After this, of course, it's all plain sailing, and we shall go on. I say, just look at 'em." Denville turned with a sigh towards the bay window where Claire and Cora were seated, talking quietly, but with eyes that seemed to fight and fence, as if each feared the other. "You go into a many houses and don't see such a pair as that." "Your daughter is a beautiful woman, Mrs Dean." "_Lady_," said the latter correctively; "and so's yours, only too cold and pale. And now, look here, Denville, as friends--I know what's what." "Really, Mrs Dean, you puzzle me." "Hush! Don't speak so loud. Look here, you've done me a thoroughly good turn, and I'm a warm woman, and not ungrateful. As I said before, I know what's what--Parties ain't done well for nothing, and expenses comes heavy sometimes. If you want to borrow thirty or forty pounds-- there, stuff! you must have your fees. I'm going to put half a dozen five-pound notes under the chany ornament in the back room. You can look round and admire the rooms and get it." His spirit rebelled, but his breeches pocket gaped horribly, and wincing in spirit, he rose and went forward to talk to Cora in his society way, starting, in spite of himself, as he heard the chink of china on marble, while, after a time, he began in the most graceful way to gaze through his eyeglass at the pictures and china from Mr Barclay's ample store, ending by securing the notes in the most _nonchalant_ way. After letting a sufficient time elapse, the Denvilles took their leave, and Mrs Dean broke out in ecstasy: "There, Betsy, at last. You'll be a real lady now." "Yes, mother," said Cora dreamily. "I say, Denville isn't a bad one, only he has to be paid." "It's the custom, mother."