tell you. No, no: you're too late," she cried, as RichardLinnell hurriedly entered; "I've brought the news."
"You've told her then that Cora Dean is married?"
"Now what a shame, Mr Richard," cried Mrs Barclay. "I hadn't time tosay it, but I was just going to tell her. But she doesn't know who to,and I will tell her that. Colonel Mellersh, my dear."
"Colonel Mellersh!" cried Claire.
"Yes," said Richard Linnell. "I have just received this from him. Amessage from them both."
Claire opened her lips to speak, but her eyes fell upon RichardLinnell's thoughtful face, and it was he who spoke next, and saidslowly:
"No: now I come to think of it all, I am not surprised."
Of course, Saltinville talked a great deal about this match, but theworthies of the place talked more about another wedding that took placesix months later--a wedding at which Lord Carboro' insisted upon beingthe bridegroom's best man.
It was upon that occasion, after returning from the church, that LordCarboro' took a casket from his pocket and placed it in Claire's hands.
"The old jewels, my dear, that I have prized because you refused themonce before. God bless you! and I know He will."
The old man turned quickly away with his face working, and crossed tothe Master of the Ceremonies, who was looking very much his old self, inhis meagrely furnished drawing-room, and tapped him half angrily uponthe shoulder.
"Hang it all, Denville," he cried, "can't you see I've forgotten mysnuff-box, and am dying for a pinch? The old box, sir--His RoyalHighness's box. Hah! That's better," he ejaculated, after dipping histhin white finger and thumb in the chased gold box, "a friend at apinch, eh, Denville, eh? Damme, sir, your young wits and beaux don'toften beat that, eh? The old school's passing away, Denville, eh?passing away."
"With the noblemen who are your lordship's contemporaries."
"Tut-tut-tut! Denville, don't. Never mind the lordship. We must bebetter friends, man--better friends for our little fag ends of troubledlives. Hush! No more now. This is the bride and bridegroom's day."
There were many strangers who, visiting Saltinville, were ready to smileat the tottering white-haired beau, so elaborately dressed, and who, notfrom need, but from custom, clung to his old habits and receivedvisitors as Master of the Ceremonies still. It was a quaint oldfiction, and he used to glory in his fees, now they were only wanted fora purpose he had in view.
There were other laughs too ready to be bestowed upon the palsied oldnobleman in the dark wig, who met the Master of the Ceremonies everymorning on the Parade, and took snuff with him as they flourished theircanes, and flicked away fancied spots of dust. Their high collars andpantaloons and Hessian boots, all came in for notice. So did thosewonderful beaver hats, black for winter, white for summer, which werelifted with such a display of deportment, in return to the salutes ofthose who were taking the air. It was always the same: they met at thesame hour, at the same spot, took snuff, chatted upon the same themes,and then strolled down to the end of the pier talking of how "times havechanged, sir: times have changed."
"Who's him, sir--old chap in the black wig, and a face like a woodennut-cracker? Oh, he's old Lord Carboro'."
"And the other?" said the stranger, who had been questioning FishermanDick, as the old men passed them by.
"T'other, sir? Ah, I could tell you a deal about him. That's theMaster o' the Ceremonies, that is. I could tell you a long story abouthe."
And so he did.
THE END.
The Master of the Ceremonies Page 93