I promised I'd deliver
it for her,--I mean the letter--that's why I made Bamborough bring
me here. So you see I've kept my word as I always do--that
is--sometimes. Oh, dear me, I'm so excited--about the race, I
mean--and Cleone's so nervous--came and woke me long before dawn,
and there were tears on her lashes--I know because I felt 'em when I
kissed them--I mean her eyes. And Patten dressed me in such a hurry
this morning--which was really my fault, and I know my wig's not
straight--and there you stand staring at it as though you wanted
to kiss it--I mean Cleone's letter, not my wig. That ridiculous
Mr. Tressider told Cleone that it was the best course he ever hoped
to ride over--meaning 'the worst' of course, so Cleone's quite
wretched, dear lamb--but oh, Barnabas, it would be dreadful if--
if you were--killed--oh!" And the Duchess shivered and turned away.
"Would you mind? So much, madam?"
"Barnabas--I never had a son--or a daughter--but I think I know just
how--your mother would be feeling--now!"
"And I do not remember my mother!" said Barnabas.
"Poor, poor Joan!" sighed the Duchess, very gently. "Were she here I
think she would--but then she was much taller than I, and--oh, boy,
stoop--stoop down, you great, tall Barnabas--how am I ever to reach
you if you don't?"
Then Barnabas stooped his head, and the Duchess kissed him--even as
his own mother might have done, and so, smiling a little tremulously,
turned away.
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