The Amateur Gentleman

"Viscount, do you love the Lady Cleone?"

"Eh? Who? Love? Now deuce take it, Beverley, how sudden you are!"

"Do you love her, Dick?"

"Love her--of course, yes--aren't we rivals? Love her, certainly, oh

yes--ask my Roman parent!" And the Viscount frowned blackly, and ran

his fingers through his hair.

"Why then," said Barnabas, "since you--honor me with your friendship,

I feel constrained to tell you that she has given me to--to

understand she will--marry me--some day."

"Eh? Oh! Marry you? The devil! Oh, has she though!" and hereupon the

Viscount stared, whistled, and, in that moment, Barnabas saw that

his frown had vanished.

"Will you--congratulate me, Dick?"

"My dear fellow," cried the Viscount, springing up, "with all my

heart!"

"Dick," said Barnabas, as their hands met, "would you give me your

hand as readily had it been--Clemency?"

Now here the Viscount's usually direct gaze wavered and fell, while

his pallid cheek flushed a dull red. He did not answer at once, but

his sudden frown was eloquent.

"Egad, Bev, I--since you ask me--I don't think I should."

"Why?"

"Oh well, I suppose--you see--oh, I'll be shot if I know!"

"You--don't love her, do you, Dick?"

"Clemency? Of course not--that is--suppose I do--what then?"

"Why then she'd make a very handsome Viscountess, Dick."

"Beverley," said the Viscount, staring wide-eyed, "are you mad?"

"No," Barnabas retorted, "but I take you to be an honorable man, my

Lord."

The Viscount sprang to his feet, clenched his fists, then took two

or three turns across the room.

"Sir," said he, in his iciest tones, "you presume too much on my

friendship."

"My Lord," said Barnabas, "with your good leave I'll ring for my

servant." Which he did, forthwith.

"Sir," said the Viscount, pale and stern, and with folded arms,

"your remark was, I consider, a direct reflection upon my honor."

"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his breeches,

"your honor is surely your friend's, also?"

"Sir," said the Viscount, with arms still folded, and sitting very

upright on the bed, "were I to--call you out for that remark I

should be only within my rights."

"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his shirt, "were you

to call from now till doomsday--I shouldn't come."

"Then, sir," said the Viscount, cold and sneering, "a whip,

perhaps,--or a cane might--"

But at this juncture, with a discreet knock, Peterby entered, and,

having bowed to the scowling Viscount, proceeded to invest Barnabas

with polished boots, waistcoat and scarlet coat, and to tie his

voluminous cravat, all with that deftness, that swift and silent

dexterity which helped to make him the marvel he was.

"Sir," said he, when Barnabas stood equipped from head to foot,

"Captain Slingsby's groom called to say that his master and the

Marquis of Jerningham are expecting you and Viscount Devenham to

breakfast at 'The Chequers'--a little higher up the street, sir.

Breakfast is ordered for eight o'clock."