"
"Are you--quite sure?" persisted Barnabas, aware of the Viscount's
haggard cheek and feverish eye.
"Quite, Bev, quite,--behold! feel!" and doubling his fist, he smote
Barnabas a playful blow in the ribs. "Oh, my dear fellow, it's
going to be a grand race though,--ding-dong to the finish! And it's
dry, thank heaven, for 'Moonraker''s no mud-horse. But I shall be
glad when we line up for the start, Bev."
"In about--four hours, Dick."
"Yes! Devilish long time till eleven o'clock!" sighed the Viscount,
seating himself upon the bed and swinging his spurred heels
petulantly to and fro. "And I hate to be kept waiting, Bev--egad, I
do!"
"Viscount, do you love the Lady Cleone?"
"Eh? Who? Love? Now deuce take it, Beverley, how sudden you are!"
"Do you love her, Dick?"
"Love her--of course, yes--aren't we rivals? Love her, certainly, oh
yes--ask my Roman parent!" And the Viscount frowned blackly, and ran
his fingers through his hair.
"Why then," said Barnabas, "since you--honor me with your friendship,
I feel constrained to tell you that she has given me to--to
understand she will--marry me--some day."
"Eh? Oh! Marry you? The devil! Oh, has she though!" and hereupon the
Viscount stared, whistled, and, in that moment, Barnabas saw that
his frown had vanished.
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