"Dear--dear--dear! Poor Denville! he has nothing but misfortunes. I am sorry for him; I am indeed. Well, I must go; but mind this, Miss Clode: Claire Denville is a particular friend of mine, and no one shall say ill of her in my presence." There was a very strong resemblance to a ruffled hen, whose chickens had been looked at by a strange cat, in Mrs Barclay's aspect as she left Miss Clode's, while, at her aunt's command, Annie, the bun-faced, moved a Berlin wool pattern on one side in the window so that she could command a view of the Parade from the bulging panes, and after watching there for a few minutes she said: "She's gone by, auntie." "Ah, with all her fuss, she daren't keep up the acquaintance." "She has turned back and gone in, auntie." "Oh, very well, just as she likes; it is no business of mine." Annie, the innocent, was quite right, for Mrs Barclay had walked by the Denvilles', and then stopped short, indignant with herself; turned back and given a good bold rap at the door, to which Isaac, who looked discontented and strange, replied, and said, before he was asked: "Not at home." "Now don't you talk nonsense to me, young man," said Mrs Barclay, "because--" "My master and mistress are--not--at--" Isaac began to drag his works towards the last, for Mrs Barclay was rummaging in her reticule for a half-crown, but could only find a good old-fashioned crown, which she slipped into the footman's hand. To a man-servant who was beginning to look upon his arrears of wages as doubtful, a crown-piece was a coin not to be despised, and he took it and smiled. "Mr Denville is out, I suppose, isn't he?" "Yes, ma'am." "Well, I don't want to see him, but just you go and ask Miss Claire to see me, and if she says no, you say I must see her. There!" The result was that Mrs Barclay was shown into the drawing-room, where Claire rose to meet her with cold dignity, and pointed to a chair. Instead of taking it, Mrs Barclay caught the girl in her arms, and gave her rapidly some half-dozen hearty kisses. "There, my dear," she said, "if every bit as I've heard was quite true, I should have come all the same; but as I don't believe one single synnable of the pack o' lies, I've come to see you. There!" That _there_ came like an expiration of the breath as she plumped herself down, and the next minute Claire was upon her knees, her arms round the wide waist, and her face buried in the extensive bosom, sobbing violently, and relieving herself in tears of the pressure that had been crushing her down ever since the troubles of that terrible night. "That's right, my darling: you cry--cry hard. A good cup o' tea and a good cry's the greatest blessings o' Providence for us poor suffering women. No, no: you needn't put a hankychy between. My Jo-si-ah never stints me in dresses, and you may spoil a dozen of 'em if that'll do you any good." "Mrs Barclay--Mrs Barclay!"