You were very
pink, Cleone, and as bald as--as I am, without my wig. No--pray sit
still,--Mr. Beverley isn't looking at you, and he was just as bald,
once, I expect--and will be again, I hope. Even at that early age
you pouted at me, Cleone, and I liked you for it. You are pouting
now, Miss! To-day Mr. Beverley frowns at me, and I like him for
it,--besides, he's very handsome when he frowns, don't you think,
Cleone?"
"Madam--" began Barnabas, with an angry look.
"Ah! now you're going to quarrel with me,--well there's the
Major,--I shall go. If you must quarrel with some one,--try Cleone,
she's young, and, I think, a match for you. Oh, Major! Major Piper,
pray lend your arm and protection to a poor, old, defenceless woman."
So saying, the Duchess rose, and the Major, bowing gallantly gave her
the limb she demanded, and went off with her, 'haw'-ing in his best
and most ponderous manner.
Barnabas sat, chin in hand, staring at the ground, half expecting
that Cleone would rise and leave him. But no! My lady sat leaning
back in her chair, her head carelessly averted, but watching him
from the corners of her eyes.
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