The Amateur Gentleman

"Gad, Beverley! how the deuce did y' do it?"

"Do what, Marquis?"

"Charm the Serpent! Tame the Dragon!"

"Dragon?"

"Make such a conquest of her Graceless Grace of Camberhurst, my

great-aunt? I didn't know you were even acquainted,--how long have

you known her?"

"About an hour," said Barnabas.

"Eh--an hour? But, my dear fellow, you came to see her--over the wall,

you know,--she said so, and--"

"She said so, yes, Marquis, but--"

"But? Oh, I see! Ah, to be sure! She is my great-aunt, of course,

and my great-aunt, Beverley, generally thinks, and does, and

says--exactly what she pleases. Begad! you never can tell what she'

11 be up to next,--consequently every one is afraid of her, even

those high goddesses of the beau monde, those exclusive grandes dames,

my Ladies Castlereagh, Jersey, Cowper and the rest of 'em--they're

all afraid of my small great-aunt, and no wonder! You see, she's

old--older than she looks, and--with a perfectly diabolical memory!

She knows not only all their own peccadillos, but the sins of their

great-grandmothers as well. She fears nothing on the earth, or under

the earth, and respects no one--not even me. Only about half an hour

ago she informed me that I was a--well, she told me precisely what I

was,--and she can be painfully blunt, Beverley,--just because Cleone

happens to have refused me again."

"Again?" said Barnabas inquiringly.

"Oh, yes! She does it regularly. Begad! she's refused me so often

that it's grown into a kind of formula with us now. I say, 'Cleone,

do!' and she answers, 'Bob, don't!' But even that's something,--lots

of 'em haven't got so far as that with her."

"Sir Mortimer Carnaby, for instance!" said Barnabas, biting his lip.

"Hum!" said the Marquis dubiously, deftly re-settling his cravat,

"and what of--yourself, Beverley?"

"I have asked her--only twice, I think."

"Ah, and she--refused you?"

"No," sighed Barnabas, "she told me she--despised me."

"Did she so? Give me your hand--I didn't think you were so strong in

the running. With Cleone's sort there's always hope so long as she

isn't sweet and graciously indifferent."

"Pray," said Barnabas suddenly, "pray where did you get that rose,

Marquis?"

"This? Oh, she gave it to me."

"Cleone?"

"Of course."

"But--I thought she'd refused you?"

"Oh, yes--so she did; but that's just like Cleone, frowning one

moment, smiling the next--April, you know."

"And did she--kiss it first?"

"Kiss it? Why--deuce take me, now I come to think of it,--so

she did,--at least--What now, Beverley?"

"I'm--going!" said Barnabas.

"Going? Where?"

"Back--over the wall!"

"Eh!--run away, is it?"

"As far," said Barnabas, scowling, "as far as possible. Good-by,

Marquis!" And so he turned and strode away, while the Marquis stared

after him, open-mouthed. But as he went, Barnabas heard a voice

calling his name, and looking round, beheld Captain Chumly coming

towards him. A gallant figure he made (despite grizzled hair and

empty sleeve), in all the bravery of his white silk stockings, and

famous Trafalgar coat, which, though a little tarnished as to

epaulettes and facings, nevertheless bore witness to the Bo'sun's

diligent care; he was, indeed, from the crown of his cocked hat down

to his broad, silver shoe-buckles, the very pattern of what a

post-captain of Lord Nelson should be.