"
"The race!" exclaimed Barnabas, flushing. "You mean I'm to ride then?"
"Yes," nodded the Captain, "but b'gad! we mean more than that, we
mean that you are one of us, that Devenham's friend must be ours
because he's game--"
"And can ride," said the Viscount.
"And is a man of taste," added the Marquis.
Thus it was as one in a dream that Barnabas beheld the legs of the
Gentleman-in-Powder, and heard the words:
"Dinner is served, gentlemen!"
But scarcely had they taken their places at the table when the
Marquis rose, his brimming glass in his hand.
"Mr. Beverley," said he, bowing, "when Devenham, Slingsby, and I
meet at table, it is our invariable custom to drink to one whom we
all--hum--"
"Admire!" said the Viscount, rising.
"Adore!" said the Captain, rising also.
"Therefore, gentlemen," pursued the Marquis, "with our host's
permission, we will--"
"Stay a moment, Jerningham," said the Viscount,--"it is only right
to tell you that my friend Beverley is one with us in this,--he also
is a suitor for the hand of Lady Cleone."
"Is he, b'gad!" exclaimed the Captain. "Dooce take me!" said the
Marquis, "might have known it though.
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