"Oh!"
"And then--when I seen you slip, m'lady, I thought as 'ow I'd
better--wait a bit. So I waited, I did." And here, again, Milo
of Crotona touched the peak of his cap, and looked from Barnabas
to Cleone's flushing loveliness with eyes wide and profoundly
innocent,--a very cherub in top-boots, only his buttons (Ah, his
buttons!) seemed to leer and wink one to another, as much as to say:
"Oh yes! Of course! to--be--sure?"
"And what brings you so far from London?" inquired Barnabas, rather
hurriedly.
"Coach, sir,--box seat, sir!"
"And you brought your master with you, of course,--is the Viscount
here?"
"No, m'lady. I 'ad to leave 'im be'ind 'count of 'im being unfit to
travel--"
"Is he ill?"
"Oh, no, not hill, m'lady,--only shot, 'e is."
"Shot!" exclaimed Barnabas, "how--where?"
"In the harm, sir,--all on 'count of 'is 'oss,--'Moonraker' sir."
"His horse?"
"Yessir. 'S arternoon it were. Ye see, for a long time I ain't been
easy in me mind about them stables where 'im and you keeps your
'osses, sir, 'count of it not being safe enough,--worritted I 'ave,
sir. So 's arternoon, as we was passing the end o' the street, I
sez to m'lud, I sez, 'Won't your Ludship jest pop your nob round the
corner and squint your peepers at the 'osses?' I sez.
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