"Oh, dear me!" she cried, beginning to pat and smooth his tumbled
pillows, "how glad I am to see you able to frown again, though
indeed you look dreadfully ferocious, Barnabas!"
"I'm--very hungry, Duchess!"
"Of course you are, Barnabas, and God bless you for it!"
"A steak, madam, or a chop, I think--"
"Would be excellent, Barnabas!"
"And I wish to get up, Duchess."
"To be sure you do, Barnabas--there, lie down, so!"
"But, madam, I am firmly resolved--I'm quite determined to get up,
at once--"
"Quite so, dear Barnabas--lay your head back on the pillow! Dear me,
how comfortable you look! And now, you are hungry you say? Then I'll
sit here and gossip to you while you take your chicken broth! You may
bring it in, Mr. Peterby."
"Chicken broth!" snarled Barnabas, frowning blacker than ever,
"but, madam, I tell you I won't have the stuff; I repeat, madam,
that I am quite determined to--"
"There, there--rest your poor tired head--so! And it's all a
delicious jelly when it's cold--I mean the chicken broth, of course,
not your head. Ah! you may give it to me, Mr. Peterby, and the
spoon--thank you! Now, Barnabas!"
And hereupon, observing the firm set of her Grace's mouth, and the
authoritative flourish of the spoon she held in her small, though
imperious hand, Barnabas submitted and lying back among his pillows
in sulky dignity, swallowed the decoction in sulky silence, and
thereafter lay hearkening sulkily to her merry chatter until he had
sulked himself to sleep again.
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