"
"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.
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