"
"Why?"
"Because I love her. Because I, therefore, hate deceit, and because
I--"
"Well?"
"And because Mr. Chichester knows already."
"Ah! You mean that he has forced your hand, sir, and now you would
make the best of it--"
"I mean that he has opened my eyes, madam."
"And to-morrow you will tell Cleone?"
"Yes."
"And, of course, she will scorn you for an impudent impostor?"
Now at this Barnabas flinched, for these were Chichester's own words,
and they bore a double sting.
"And yet--I must tell her!" he groaned.
"And afterwards, where shall you go?"
"Anywhere," he sighed, with a hopeless gesture.
"And--the race?"
"Will be run without me."
"And your friends--the Marquis, Viscount Devenham, and the rest?"
"Will, I expect, turn their gentlemanly backs upon me--as you
yourself have done. So, madam, I thank you for your past kindness,
and bid you--good-by"
"Stop, sir!"
"Of what avail, madam?" sighed Barnabas, turning away.
"Come back--I command you!"
"I am beneath your Grace's commands, henceforth," said Barnabas, and
plodded on down the road.
"Then I--beg of you!"
"Why?" he inquired, pausing.
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