"Nonsense, Jo-si-ah! Do you mean to tell me--now, how can you? Why, we've been married over thirty years, and that wicked little hussy isn't above twenty. How can you talk such stuff?" "You set me going," he said grimly. "You talked as if May Burnett must be my own flesh and blood." "I didn't, Jo-si-ah. What do you mean?" "Why you want me to mix myself up in this miserable scandal over a wretched, frivolous, heartless wench, spend my hard-earned money, and let you go off on a sort of wild goose chase with her and Claire Denville. I thought you had found out that she really was my own flesh and blood." Mrs Barclay wiped her eyes, and indulged in one of her laughs--a blancmange sort of laugh--as she sat back in the chair vibrating and undulating all over, while her husband watched her with the most uncompromising of aspects till she rose. "What a man you are," she said at last. "But there, don't let's waste time. You will help us, dear, won't you?" "Us?" "Yes; _us_, Josiah. Don't you think what I have proposed is the best?" "Well, yes," he said slowly. "I do not think I could suggest anything better." "I _am_ glad," she said. "Then send Joseph at once, and take three seats for London." "You mean to go, then?" "Yes, dear, of course." "And what's to become of me?" "You will stop and see Mr Burnett, and this Mr Gravani, and poor Mr Denville, and settle the matter the best way you can." "For May Burnett's sake?" "No, dear: for mine and poor Claire Denville's; and look here, Jo-si-ah, you just beg her pardon, sir." "If I do I'll be--" "Hush! Stop, sir. I don't mean to her. Now, just you own that you have misjudged her." "Humph! Well, perhaps I have." "That's right, dear; and you will do your best now, won't you?" "I tell you what, woman; I've read about men being fooled by their wives and turned round the thumb; but the way you turn me round beats everything I ever did read." "Yes," she said, nestling to his side. "I like turning you round my thumb, dear; and let's always go on to the end just the same, Jo-si-ah; and you'll let me try to do some good." "Humph!" ejaculated Barclay, in his grimmest manner. "But, don't you see, old lady, that this May Burnett is a worthless sort of baggage?" "I can't see anything, dear, only that poor Claire Denville, whom I love very much, is in great trouble, and that we are wasting time." "Wasting love, you mean," cried Barclay. "If you've got so much love to spare, why don't you pour it on my devoted head, to wash away some of the hate which people bestow upon me?" "Jo-si-ah dear! Please." "All right," he said grimly. "I'll do it, old lady. Let's see; the coach goes at half-past eleven. You've plenty of time. I'll send Joseph. But tell me, where are you going?" "To the Bell, in Holborn, dear, for the first day. Then I shall take apartments somewhere till it is all settled." "But the expense, woman?" "I've plenty of jewels, dear. Shall I sell something?"