But let me present
to you a young friend of mine, Mr.--Mr.--dear, dear! I quite
forget--my memory is going, you see, Letitia! Mr.--"
"Beverley, madam," said Barnabas.
"Thank you,--Beverley, of course! Mr. Beverley--the Countess of Orme."
Hereupon Barnabas bowed low before the haughty stare of the keen,
hawk-like eyes.
"And now, my sweet Letty," continued the Duchess, "you are always so
delightfully gossipy--have you any news,--any stories to laugh over?"
"No, dear Fanny, neither the one nor the other--only--"
"'Only,' my love?"
"Only--but you've heard it already, of course,--you would be the
very first to know of it!"
"Letitia, my dear--I always hated conundrums, you'll remember."
"I mean, every one is talking of it, already."
"Heigho! How warm the sun is!"
"Of course it may be only gossip, but they do say Cleone Meredith
has refused the hand of your grandnephew."
"Jerningham, oh yes," added the Duchess, "on the whole, it's just as
well."
"But I thought--" the hawk-eyes were very piercing indeed. "I feared
it would be quite a blow to you--"
The Duchess shook her head, with a little ripple of laughter.
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