"Madam?" said Barnabas, wondering.

"Over there--behind the marble faun,--quite harmless, and very pink,

you'll notice. I mean young D'Arcy--not the faun. Clever minx! Now I

mean Cleone, of course--there she is!" Following the direction of the

Duchess's pointing fan, Barnabas saw Cleone, sure enough. Her eyes

were drooped demurely before the ardent gaze of the handsome,

pink-cheeked young soldier who stood before her, and in her white

fingers she held--a single red rose. Now, all at once, (and as

though utterly unconscious of the burning, watchful eyes of Barnabas)

she lifted the rose to her lips, and, smiling, gave it into the

young soldier's eager hand. Then they strolled away, his epaulette

very near the gleaming curls at her temple.

"Lud, young sir!" exclaimed the Duchess, catching Barnabas by the

coat, "how dreadfully sudden you are in your movements--"

"Madam, pray loose me!"

"Why?"

"I'm going--I cannot bear--any more!"

"You mean--?"

"I mean that--she has--"

"A very remarkable head, she is as resourceful as I was--almost."

"Resourceful!" exclaimed Barnabas, "she is--"

"An extremely clever girl--"

"Madam, pray let me go."

"No, sir! my finger is twisted in your buttonhole,--if you pull

yourself away I expect you'll break it, so pray don't pull; naturally,

I detest pain. And I have much to talk about."

"As you will, madam," said Barnabas, frowning.

"First, tell me--you're quite handsome when you frown,--first, sir,

why weren't you formally presented to me with the other guests?"

"Because I'm not a guest, madam."

"Sir--explain yourself."

"I mean that I came--over the wall, madam."

"The wall! Climbed over?"

"Yes, madam!"

"Dear heaven! The monstrous audacity of the man! You came to see

Cleone, of course?"

"Yes, madam."

"Ah, very right,--very proper! I remember I had a lover--in the

remote ages, of course,--who used to climb--ah, well,--no matter!

Though his wall was much higher than yours yonder." Here the Duchess

sighed tenderly. "Well, you came to see Cleone, you found her,--and

nicely you behaved to each other when you met! Youth is always so

dreadfully tragic! But then what would love be without a little

tragedy? And oh--dear heaven!--how you must adore each other! Oh,

Youth! Youth!--and there's Sir George Annersley--!"

"Then, madam, you must excuse me!" said Barnabas, glancing furtively

from the approaching figures to the adjacent wall.

"Oh dear, no. Sir George is with Jerningharn and Major Piper, a

heavy dragoon--the heaviest in all the world, I'm sure. You must

meet them."

"No, indeed--I--"

"Sir," said the Duchess, buttonholing him again, "I insist! Oh, Sir

George--gentlemen!" she called. Hereupon three lounging figures

turned simultaneously, and came hurrying towards them.

"Why, Duchess!" exclaimed Sir George, a large, mottled gentleman in

an uncomfortable cravat, "we have all been wondering what had become

of your Grace, and--" Here Sir George's sharp eye became fixed upon

Barnabas, upon his spurred boots, his buckskins, his dusty coat; and

Sir George's mouth opened, and he gave a tug at his cravat.




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