"Deceiving me--!"

"With every moment he lives!"

"But--oh, God-mother--!"

"Cleone,--he is not what he seems!"

"Deceiving me?"

"His very name is false!"

"What do you mean? Ah no, no--I'm sure he would not, and yet--oh,

God-mother,--why?"

"Because--hush, Cleone--he's immensely rich, one of the wealthiest

young men in London, and--hush! He would be--loved for himself alone.

So, Cleone,--listen,--he may perhaps come to you with some wonderful

story of poverty and humble birth. He may tell you his father was

only a--a farmer, or a tinker, or a--an inn-keeper. Oh dear me,--so

delightfully romantic! Therefore, loving him as you do--"

"I don't!"

"With every one of your yellow hairs--"

"I do--not!"

"From the sole of your foot--"

"God-mother!"

"To the crown of your wilful head,--oh, Youth, Youth!--you may let

your heart answer as it would. Oh Fire! Passion! Romance! (yes, yes,

Jack,--we're coming!) Your heart, I say, Cleone, may have its way,

because with all his wealth he has a father who--hush!--at one time

was the greatest man in all England,--a powerful man, Clo,--a famous

man, indeed a man of the most--striking capabilities. So, when your

heart--(dear me, how impatient Jack is!) Oh, supper? Excellent, for,

child, now I come to think of it, I'm positively swooning with hunger!"




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