Heaven, sir, doubtless to some wise end, has
always denied me that which is a woman's abiding joy or shame--I
mean a child, sir, and as the years creep on, one is apt to be a
little solitary, now and then, and at such times I feel the need of
a son--so I have determined to adopt you, Barnabas--today! Now! This
minute! Not a word, sir, my mind is made up!"
"But," stammered Barnabas, "but, madam, I--I beg you to consider--my
father--"
"Is a publican and probably a sinner, Barnabas. I may be a sinner too,
perhaps--y-e-s, I fear I am, occasionally. But then I am also a
Duchess, and it is far wiser in a man to be the adopted son of a
sinful Duchess than the selfish son of a sinful publican, yes indeed."
"But I, madam, what can I say? Dear Duchess, I--the honor you would
do me--" floundered poor Barnabas, "believe me if--if--"
"Not another word!" the Duchess interposed, "it is quite settled. As
my adopted son Society shall receive you on bended knees, with open
arms--I'll see to that! All London shall welcome you, for though I'm
old and wear a wig, I'm very much alive, and Society knows it. So no
more talk of horses, or farms, or inns, Barnabas; my mind, as I say,
is quite made up and--"
"But, madam," said Barnabas gently, "so is mine.
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