"Money, sir! I offered the help of a friend," said Barclay warmly. "Come, speak out. You are in trouble." Denville looked at him hesitatingly, but did not speak. "I don't ask for your confidence," said Barclay, "but you have done me more than one good turn, Denville, and I want to help you if I can." Still the old man hesitated; but at last he seemed to master his hesitation, and, catching the other's sleeve, he whispered: "A scandalous place, my dear Barclay. I used to smile at these things, but of late my troubles have a good deal broken me down. I am changed. I know everybody, but I have no friends, and--there, I confess it, I came to speak to your wife, to ask her advice and help, for at times I feel as if the kindly words and interest of some true woman would make my load easier to bear." "Nothing like a good friend," said Barclay gruffly. "Yes--exactly. You'll pardon me, Barclay; you have been very kind, but your manner does not invite confidence. I feel that I cannot speak to you as I could wish." "Try," said Barclay, taking his hand. "Come, you are in trouble about your daughter." "Yes," cried Denville quickly. "How did you know?" "Never mind how I know. Now then, speak out, what do _you_ know?" "Only that there is some fresh gossip afloat, mixing up my daughter's name with that of one of the reckless fops of this place." "Claire Denville's?" "Yes, my dear sir. It is most cruel. These people do not think of the agony it causes those who love their children. I heard that my child had come here--ah, here is Mrs Barclay back. My dear madam, I came to bear my daughter company home, to stay with her, and to show these wretched scandal-mongers that there is no truth in the story that has been put about." "Have you told him, Jo-si-ah?" "No, madam," cried Denville; "there was no need. Some cruel enemy contrived that I should hear of it--this wretched scandal. But you'll pardon me--the lies, the contemptible falsehoods of the miserable idlers who find pleasure in such stories. My daughter Claire has been maligned before. She can bear it again, and by her sweet truthfulness live down all such falsities." "But, Mr Denville!" cried Mrs Barclay. "Hush, ma'am, pray. A father's feelings. You'll pardon me. We can scorn these wretched attacks. My child Claire is above them. I shall take no notice; I wished, however, to be by her side. She will return here, you say?" "Yes, yes, my dear good man," cried Mrs Barclay; "but you are blinding yourself to the truth." "No, ma'am, you'll pardon me. My eyes have long been open to the truth. I know. They say that my dear child Claire is to elope to-night with Sir Harry Payne. I had a letter from some busybody to that effect; but it is not true. I say it is not true."