"
"Secondly, sir,--what of your fine ambitions?"
"It will be my ambition, henceforth, to breed good horses, madam."
"Thirdly, sir,--what of your money?"
"I shall hope to spend it to much better purpose in the country than
in the World of Fashion, Duchess."
"Oh Lud, Barnabas,--what a selfish creature you are!"
"Selfish, madam?"
"A perfect--wretch!"
"Wretch?" said Barnabas, staring.
"Wretch!" nodded the Duchess, frowning, "and pray don't echo my words,
sir. I say you are a preposterously selfish wretch, and--so you are!"
"But, madam, why? What do you mean?"
"I mean that you should try to forget yourself occasionally and
think of others--me, for instance; look at me--a solitary old
woman--in a wig!"
"You, Duchess?"
"Me, Barnabas. And this brings me to fourthly--what of me, sir?
--what of me?"
"But, madam, I--"
"And this brings me to fifthly and sixthly and seventhly--my hopes,
and dreams, and plans, sir--are they all to be broken, spoiled,
ruined by your hatefully selfish whims, sir--hush, not a word!"
"But, Duchess, indeed I don't--"
"Hush, sir, and listen to me. There are days when my wig rebukes me,
sir, and my rouge-pot stares me out of countenance; yes, indeed, I
sometimes begin to feel almost--middle-aged and, at such times, I
grow a little lonely.
Pages:
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801