"
"It's your right arm, luckily, and a horseman needs only his left.
You ride fairly well, I understand, Viscount?"
"Oh, indifferent well, sir, I thank you. But allow me to present my
friend to your Lordship,--Mr. Beverley--my father!"
So Barnabas shook hands with the Viscount's Roman parent, and,
meeting his kindly eyes, saw that, for all their kindliness, they
were eyes that looked deep into the heart of things.
"Come, gentlemen," cried the Duchess rising, "if you have quite
finished breakfast, take me to the stables, for I'm dying to see the
horses, I vow I am. Lead the way, Viscount. Mr. Beverley shall give
me his arm."
So towards the stables they set forth accordingly, the Duchess and
Barnabas well to the rear, for, be it remarked, she walked very
slowly.
"Here it is, Barnabas," said she, as soon as the others were out of
ear-shot.
"What, madam?"
"Oh, dear me, how frightfully dense you are, Barnabas!" she exclaimed,
fumbling in her reticule. "What should it be but a letter, to be
sure--Cleone's letter."
"A letter from Cleone! Oh, Duchess--"
"Here--take it. She wrote it last night--poor child didn't sleep a
wink, I know, and--all on your account, sir.
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