Yet, my dears, should I win or lose, I would have you
remember me always as
Your dutiful, loving
BARNABAS.
* * * * *
Now, as Barnabas laid down his pen, he became aware of voices and
loud laughter from the adjacent coffee-room, and was proceeding to
fold and seal his letter when he started and raised his head, roused
by the mention of his own name spoken in soft, deliberate tones that
he instantly recognized:
"Ah, so you have met this Mr. Beverley?"
"Yes," drawled another, deeper voice, "the Duchess introduced him to
me. Who the deuce is he, Chichester?"
"My dear Carnaby, pray ask Devenham, or Jerningham, he's their
protege--not mine."
"Sir," broke in the Viscount's voice, speaking at its very iciest,--
"Mr. Beverley is--my friend!"
"And mine also, I trust!" thus the Marquis.
"Exactly!" rejoined Mr. Chichester's smooth tones, "and, consequently,
despite his mysterious origin, he is permitted to ride in the
Steeplechase among the very elite of the sporting world--"
"And why not, b'gad?" Captain Slingsby's voice sounded louder and
gruffer than usual, "I'll warrant him a true-blue,--sportsman every
inch, and damme! one of the right sort too,--sit a horse with any
man,--bird at a fence, and ready to give or take odds on his chances,
I'll swear--"
"Now really," Mr.
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