Yet
she was quick to notice the distress in his voice, and the gleam of
moisture among the curls at his temple, hence her tone was more
encouraging as she continued. "Still, sir, speak on if you wish,
for even a Duchess may appreciate honor and truth--in another,
of course,--though she does wear a wig!"
"Believe me," sighed Barnabas, beginning to stride restlessly to and
fro, "the full significance of my conduct never occurred to me
until it was forced on my notice by--by another, and then--" he
paused and brushed the damp curls from his brow. "To-day I tried to
write to Cleone--to tell her everything, but I--couldn't."
"So you decided to come and tell me first, which was very nice of you,"
nodded the Duchess, "oh, very right and proper! Well, sir, I'm
listening."
"First, then," said Barnabas, coming to a halt, and looking down at
her steadfast-eyed, "you must know that my real name is--Barty."
"Barty?" repeated the Duchess, raising her brows. "Mm! I like
Beverley much better."
"Beverley was my mother's name. She was Joan Beverley."
"Joan? Joan Beverley? Why y-e-s, I think I remember her, and the
talk there was.
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