"Ah," cried Barnabas, "so you scorn me--already?"
"Of course."
"For being--an inn-keeper's son?"
"For--telling of it!"
"And yet," said Barnabas, "I think Barnabas Barty is a better man
than Barnabas Beverley, and a more worthy lover; indeed I know he is.
And, as Barnabas Barty, I bid your Grace good-by!"
"Where are you going?"
"To the village inn, madam, my proper place, it seems.
But--to-morrow morning, unless you have told Cleone, I shall. And now,
if your Grace will have the kindness to send my servant to me--"
"But--why tell Cleone?" inquired the Duchess over her shoulder;
"there is one alternative left to you."
"Then, madam, in heaven's name,--tell it me!" cried Barnabas eagerly.
"A ridiculously simple one, sir."
"Oh, madam--what can I do--pray tell me."
"You must--disown this inn-keeping wretch, of course. You must cast
him off--now, at once, and forever!"
"Disown him--my father!"
"Certainly,"
Barnabas stared wide-eyed. Then he laughed, and uncovering his head,
bowed deeply.
"Madam," said he, "I have the honor to bid your Grace good-by!"
"You--will tell Cleone then?"
"To-morrow morning.
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