I am going home, but before I--"
"Home? What home--which home?"
"But before I do, I would thank you if I could, but how may I thank
you for all your motherly care of me? Indeed, dear Duchess, I cannot,
and yet--if words can--"
"Pho!" exclaimed the Duchess, knitting her brows at him, but with
eyes still ineffably soft and tender, "what do you mean by 'home,'
pray?"
"I am going back to my father and Natty Bell."
"And to--that inn?"
"Yes, Duchess. You see, there is not, there never was, there never
shall be quite such another inn as the old 'Hound.'"
"And you--actually mean to--live there?"
"Yes, for a time, but--"
"Ha--a publican!" exclaimed the Duchess and positively sniffed,
though only as a really great lady may.
"--there is a farm near by, I shall probably--"
"Ha--a farmer!" snorted the Duchess.
"--raise horses, madam, and with Natty Bell's assistance I hope--"
"Horses!" cried the Duchess, and sniffed again. "Horses, indeed!
Absurd! Preposterous! Quite ridiculous--hush, sir! I have some
questions to ask you."
"Well, Duchess?"
"Firstly, sir, what of your dreams? What of London? What of Society?"
"They were--only dreams," answered Barnabas; "in place of them I
shall have--my father and Natty Bell.
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