"Indeed, Duchess?"
"Yes. I bet Cleone an Indian shawl against a pair of beaded mittens
that you would be here, to-day, before ten o'clock. So you see, you
are hours before your time, and the mittens are mine. Talking of
Cleone, sir, she's in the orchard. She's also in a shocking
temper--indeed quite cattish, so you'd better stay here and talk to
me. But then--she's alone, and looking vastly handsome, I'll admit,
so, of course, you're dying to be gone--now aren't you?"
"No," Barnabas replied, and turning, bade Peterby drive on to the
house.
"Then you ought to be!" retorted the Duchess, shaking an admonitory
finger at him, yet smiling also as the carriage rolled away.
"Youth can never prefer to listen to a chattering old woman--in a wig!"
"But you see, madam, I need your help, your advice," said Barnabas
gravely.
"Ah, now I love giving people advice! It's so pleasant and--easy!"
"I wish to confide in you,--if I may."
"Confidences are always interesting--especially in the country!"
"Duchess, I--I--have a confession to make."
"A confession, sir? Then I needn't pretend to work any
longer--besides, I always prick myself. There!" And rolling the very
small piece of embroidery into a ball, she gave it to Barnabas.
"Pray sir, hide the odious thing in your pocket. Will you sit beside
me? No? Very well--now, begin, sir!"
"Why, then, madam, in the first place, I--"
"Yes?"
"I--that is to say,--you--must understand that--in the first place--"
"You've said 'first place' twice!" nodded the Duchess as he paused.
"Yes--Oh!--Did I? Indeed I--I fear it is going to be even harder to
speak of than I thought, and I have been nerving myself to tell you
ever since I started from London."
"To tell me what?"
"That which may provoke your scorn of me, which may earn me Cleone's
bitterest contempt."
"Why then, sir--don't say another word about it--"
"Ah, but I must--indeed I must! For I know now that to balk at it,
to--to keep silent any longer would be dishonorable--and the act of
a coward!"
"Oh dear me!" sighed the Duchess, "I fear you are going to be
dreadfully heroic about something!"
"Let us say--truthful, madam!"
"But, sir,--surely Truthfulness, after all, is merely the last
resource of the hopelessly incompetent! Anyhow it must be very
uncomfortable, I'm sure," said the Duchess, nodding her head. Yet
she was quick to notice the distress in his voice, and the gleam of
moisture among the curls at his temple, hence her tone was more
encouraging as she continued. "Still, sir, speak on if you wish,
for even a Duchess may appreciate honor and truth--in another,
of course,--though she does wear a wig!"