The Amateur Gentleman

"But indeed I was--quite an infant, Fanny."

"Quite, my love, and used to do my sums for me. But let me present

to you a young friend of mine, Mr.--Mr.--dear, dear! I quite

forget--my memory is going, you see, Letitia! Mr.--"

"Beverley, madam," said Barnabas.

"Thank you,--Beverley, of course! Mr. Beverley--the Countess of Orme."

Hereupon Barnabas bowed low before the haughty stare of the keen,

hawk-like eyes.

"And now, my sweet Letty," continued the Duchess, "you are always so

delightfully gossipy--have you any news,--any stories to laugh over?"

"No, dear Fanny, neither the one nor the other--only--"

"'Only,' my love?"

"Only--but you've heard it already, of course,--you would be the

very first to know of it!"

"Letitia, my dear--I always hated conundrums, you'll remember."

"I mean, every one is talking of it, already."

"Heigho! How warm the sun is!"

"Of course it may be only gossip, but they do say Cleone Meredith

has refused the hand of your grandnephew."

"Jerningham, oh yes," added the Duchess, "on the whole, it's just as

well."

"But I thought--" the hawk-eyes were very piercing indeed. "I feared

it would be quite a blow to you--"

The Duchess shook her head, with a little ripple of laughter.

"I had formed other plans for him weeks ago,--they were quite

unsuited to each other, my love."

"I'm delighted you take it so well, my own Fanny," said the Countess,

looking the reverse. "We leave almost immediately,--but when you

pass through Sevenoaks, you must positively stay with me for a day

or two. Goodby, my sweet Fanny!" So the two ancient ladies gravely

curtsied to each other, pecked each other on either cheek, and, with

a bow to Barnabas, the Countess swept away with an imposing rustle

of her voluminous skirts.

"Cat!" exclaimed the Duchess, shaking her fan at the receding figure;

"the creature hates me fervently, and consequently, kisses me--on

both cheeks. Oh, yes, indeed, sir, she detests me--and quite

naturally. You see, we were girls together,--she's six months my

junior, and has never let me forget it,--and the Duke--God rest

him--admired us both, and, well,--I married him. And so Cleone has

actually refused poor Jerningham,--the yellow-maned minx!"

"Why, then--you didn't know of it?" inquired Barnabas.

"Oh, Innocent! of course I didn't. I'm not omniscient, and I only

ordered him to propose an hour ago. The golden hussy! the proud jade!

Refuse my grand-nephew indeed! Well, there's one of your rivals

disposed of, it seems,--count that to your advantage, sir!"

"But," said Barnabas, frowning and shaking his head, "Sir Mortimer

Carnaby has her promise!"

"Fiddlesticks!"

"She gave him the rose!" said Barnabas, between set teeth. The

Duchess tittered.

"Dear heart! how tragic you are!" she sighed. "Suppose she did,--what

then? And besides--hum! This time it is young D'Arcy, it seems,--callow,

pink, and quite harmless."