"Believe me," sighed Barnabas, beginning to stride restlessly to and
fro, "the full significance of my conduct never occurred to me
until it was forced on my notice by--by another, and then--" he
paused and brushed the damp curls from his brow. "To-day I tried to
write to Cleone--to tell her everything, but I--couldn't."
"So you decided to come and tell me first, which was very nice of you,"
nodded the Duchess, "oh, very right and proper! Well, sir, I'm
listening."
"First, then," said Barnabas, coming to a halt, and looking down at
her steadfast-eyed, "you must know that my real name is--Barty."
"Barty?" repeated the Duchess, raising her brows. "Mm! I like
Beverley much better."
"Beverley was my mother's name. She was Joan Beverley."
"Joan? Joan Beverley? Why y-e-s, I think I remember her, and the
talk there was. Joan? Ah yes, to be sure,--very handsome,
and--disappeared. No one knew why, but now,--I begin to understand.
You would suggest--"
"That she became the honorable wife of my father, John Barty, the
celebrated pugilist and ex-champion of England, now keeper of a
village inn," said Barnabas, speaking all in a breath, but
maintaining his steadfast gaze.
"Eh?" cried the Duchess, and rose to her feet with astonishing
ease for one of her years, "eh, sir, an innkeeper! And your
mother--actually married him?" and the Duchess shivered.
"Yes, madam. I am their lawful son."
"Dreadful!" cried the Duchess, "handsome Joan Beverley--married to
an--inn-keeper! Horrible! She'd much better have died--say, in a
ditch--so much more respectable!"
"My father is an honorable man!" said Barnabas, with upflung head.
"Your father is--an inn-keeper!"
"And--my father, madam!"
"The wretch!" exclaimed the Duchess. "Oh, frightful!" and she
shivered again.
"And his son--loves Cleone!"
"Dreadful! Frightful" cried the Duchess. "An inn-keeper's son! Beer
and skittles and clay pipes! Oh, shocking!" And here, shuddering for
the third time as only a great lady might, she turned her back on him.
"Ah," cried Barnabas, "so you scorn me--already?"
"Of course."
"For being--an inn-keeper's son?"
"For--telling of it!"
"And yet," said Barnabas, "I think Barnabas Barty is a better man
than Barnabas Beverley, and a more worthy lover; indeed I know he is.
And, as Barnabas Barty, I bid your Grace good-by!"
"Where are you going?"