The Amateur Gentleman

And now, with his gaze upon that shapely back, all youthful

loveliness from slender foot to the crowning glory of her hair,

Barnabas sighed, and felt his heart leap as he strode after her. But,

even as he followed, oblivious of all else under heaven, he beheld

another back that obtruded itself suddenly upon the scene, a broad,

graceful back in a coat of fine blue cloth,--a back that bore itself

with a masterful swing of the shoulders. And, in that instant,

Barnabas recognized Sir Mortimer Carnaby.

Cleone had reached the arbor, but on the threshold turned to meet

Sir Mortimer's sweeping bow. And now she seemed to hesitate, then

extended her hand, and Sir Mortimer followed her into the arbor. My

lady's cheeks were warm with rich color, her eyes were suddenly and

strangely bright as she sank into a chair, and Sir Mortimer,

misinterpreting this, had caught and imprisoned her hands.

"Cleone," said he, "at last!" The slender hands fluttered in his

grasp, but his grasp was strong, and, ere she could stay him, he was

down before her on his knee, and speaking quick and passionately.

"Cleone!--hear me! nay, I will speak! All the afternoon I have tried

to get a word with you, and now you must hear me--you shall. And

yet you know what I would say. You know I love you, and have done

from the first hour I saw you. And from that hour I've hungered for

your, Cleone, do you hear? Ah, tell me you love me!"

But my lady sat wide-eyed, staring at the face amid the leaves

beyond the open window,--a face so handsome, yet so distorted; saw

the gleam of clenched teeth, the frowning brows, the menacing gray

eyes.

Sir Mortimer, all unconscious, had caught her listless hands to his

lips, and was speaking again between his kisses.

"Speak, Cleone! You know how long I have loved you,--speak and bid

me hope! What, silent still? Why, then--give me that rose from your

bosom,--let it be hope's messenger, and speak for you."

But still my lady sat dumb, staring up at the face amid the leaves,

the face of Man Primeval, aglow with all the primitive passions;

beheld the drawn lips and quivering nostrils, the tense jaw savage

and masterful, and the glowing eyes that threatened her. And, in

that moment, she threw tip her head rebellious, and sighed, and

smiled,--a woman's smile, proud, defiant; and, uttering no word,

gave Sir Mortimer the rose. Then, even as she did so, sprang to her

feet, and laughed, a little tremulously, and bade Sir Mortimer Go! Go!

Go! Wherefore, Sir Mortimer, seeing her thus, and being wise in the

ways of women, pressed the flower to his lips, and so turned and

strode off down the path. And when his step had died away Cleone

sank down in the chair, and spoke.