"And pray, Giant, what may you be doing here?"
"Come up on the coach, I did,--box seat, mam,--to take Mr. Beverley
back wiv me 'cause 'is 'oss ain't safe, and--"
"Not safe,--what do you mean, boy?"
"Some coves got in and tried to nobble 'Moonraker' and 'im--"
"Nobble, boy?"
"Lame 'em, mam,--put 'em out o' the running."
"The wretches!"
"Yes'm. Ye see us sportsmen 'ave our worritting times, we do."
"But where is Mr. Beverley?"
"Why, I ain't looked, mam, I ain't,--but they're down by the
brook--behind them bushes, they are."
"Oh, are they!" said the Duchess, "Hum!"
"No mam,--'e's a-coming, and so's she."
"Why, Barnabas," cried the Duchess, as Cleone and he stepped out of
the shadow, "what's all this I hear about your horse,--what is the
meaning of it?"
"That I must start for London to-night, Duchess."
"Leave to-night? Absurd!"
"And yet, madam, Cleone seems to think I must, and so does Viscount
Devenham,--see what he writes." So the Duchess took the Viscount's
letter and, having deciphered it with some difficulty, turned upon
Barnabas with admonishing finger upraised:
"So you 've been betting, eh? And with Sir Mortimer Carnaby and
Mr.
Pages:
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528