"Of course, you had, my dear. Look at me, too: just because my poor Jo-si-ah does money business with some of the spendthrifts, and, of course, lets 'em pay for it, I'm made out to be the most greedy, miserly, wicked, drinking woman that ever breathed. I'm bad enough, I dare say, and between ourselves I do like a glass of hot port wine negus with plenty of nutmeg; but I am not so bad as they say, am I, my dear?" "You are one of the truest-hearted women I know," said Claire, taking her hand. "There's a character for me, my dear," said Mrs Barclay, turning to Cora and nodding her head and laughing. "Ah, I must tell you that too," she cried as the recollection came, "just because--" "Mrs Barclay," said Claire, rising, "pray spare me. I am not well; I have not been well lately, and--and--I know you will forgive me." "Forgive you, my dear?" cried Mrs Barclay. "Why, of course. It's horribly thoughtless of me. There, good-bye. Are you coming, Miss Dean?" Cora rose, feeling that she could not stay longer, and after a warm leave-taking, during which the two younger women mentally asked themselves whether they were friends or bitter enemies, Claire's visitors withdrew and walked together along the parade. The slightest touch set Mrs Barclay's tongue going, and before they had gone far Cora was in full possession of the newly-retailed story about Claire's visits to the fishermen's huts. "And do you believe this of her?" said Cora, with an eagerness that she could not conceal. "Now, we're just become friendly, my dear, and I should be sorry to say anything nasty, but I ask you do I look as if I believed it?" "You look as if you were Claire Denville's best friend," said Cora diplomatically. "And so I am," replied Mrs Barclay proudly. "I can't help people talking scandal. They glory in it. And, look here, my dear, it isn't far from here, and if you don't mind, we'll go along the cliff to the very house and call." "Call!" said Cora in amaze. "Yes; it's at a fisherman's, you know--Fisherman Dick's--and we can get a pint or two of s'rimps for tea." The consequence was that Cora did walk along the cliff to Fisherman Dick's cottage, and when Mrs Barclay reached her house an hour later her reticule bag was bulging so that the strings could not be drawn close, and the reason why was--shrimps. On the other hand, Cora Dean had not filled her reticule with shrimps, but her mind with unpleasant little thoughts that made it bulge. Curious thoughts they were, too, and, like Mrs Barclay's shrimps, all jumbled together, heads and tails, ups and downs. She felt then that she could not arrange them, but that there was a great sensation of triumph in her breast, and what she wanted to do most was to sit down and think--no easy task, for her brain was in a whirl. Volume Two, Chapter XVIII. A STORMY SCENE.