The Amateur Gentleman Part 88

"But, madam, I--"

"Barnabas, quite so. But Wilfred Chichester always makes me shudder, and I love to shudder--now and then, especially in the hot weather.

And then everything bores me lately--Cleone, myself,--even Whist, so I'll try my hand at another game--with Wilfred Chichester as an opponent."

"But, d.u.c.h.ess, indeed I--"

"Very true, Barnabas! but the matter is quite settled. And now, you are still determined to--confess your father to Cleone, I suppose?"

"Yes, I dare not speak to her otherwise, how could I, knowing myself an--"

"Impudent impostor, sir? Quite so and fiddlesticks! Heigho! you are so abominably high-minded and heroic, Barnabas,--it's quite depressing. Cleone is only a human woman, who powders her nose when it's red, and quite right too--I mean the powder of course, not the redness. Oh! indeed she's very human, and after all, your mother was a Beverley, and I know you are rich and--ah! there she is--on the terrace with the Captain, and I'm sure she has seen you, Barnabas, because she's so vastly unconscious. Observe the pose of her head,--she has a perfect neck and shoulders, and she knows it. There!

see her kissing the Captain,--that's all for my benefit, the yellow minx! just because I happened to call him a 'hunks,' and so he is--though I don't know what I meant,--because he refused to change that dreadful old service coat. There! now she's patting his cheek--the golden jade!

Now--watch her surprise when she pretends to catch sight of us!"

Hereupon, as they advanced over the smooth turf, the d.u.c.h.ess raised her voice.

"My bird!" she called in dulcet tones, "Clo dear, Cleone my lamb, here is Barnabas, I found him--under the finger-post, my dove!"

My lady turned, gave the least little start in the world, was surprised, glad, demure, all in the self-same minute, and taking the arm of her Tyrant, who had already begun a truly nautical greeting, led him, forthwith, down the terrace steps, the s.h.i.+ning curls at her temple brus.h.i.+ng his shabby coat-sleeve as they came.

"Ha!" cried the Captain, "my dear fellow, we're glad--I say we're all of us glad to see you. Welcome to 'The Gables,'--eh, Clo?"

And Cleone? With what gracious ease she greeted him! With what clear eyes she looked at him! With what demure dignity she gave him her white hand to kiss! As though--for all the world as though she could ever hope to deceive anything so old and so very knowing as the ancient finger-post upon the London road!

"Clo dear," said the d.u.c.h.ess, "they're going to talk horses and racing, and bets and things,--I know they are,--your arm, my love.

Now,--lead on, gentlemen. And now, my dear," she continued, speaking in Cleone's ear as Barnabas and the Captain moved on, "he simply--adores you!"

"Really, G.o.d-mother--how clever of you!" said Cleone, her eyes brim full of merriment, "how wonderful you are!"

"Yes, my lady Pert,--he wors.h.i.+ps you and, consequently, is deceiving you with every breath he draws!"

"Deceiving me--!"

"With every moment he lives!"

"But--oh, G.o.d-mother--!"

"Cleone,--he is not what he seems!"

"Deceiving me?"

"His very name is false!"

"What do you mean? Ah no, no--I'm sure he would not, and yet--oh, G.o.d-mother,--why?"

"Because--hush, Cleone--he's immensely rich, one of the wealthiest young men in London, and--hus.h.!.+ He would be--loved for himself alone.

So, Cleone,--listen,--he may perhaps come to you with some wonderful story of poverty and humble birth. He may tell you his father was only a--a farmer, or a tinker, or a--an inn-keeper. Oh dear me,--so delightfully romantic! Therefore, loving him as you do--"

"I don't!"

"With every one of your yellow hairs--"

"I do--_not_!"

"From the sole of your foot--"

"G.o.d-mother!"

"To the crown of your wilful head,--oh, Youth, Youth!--you may let your heart answer as it would. Oh Fire! Pa.s.sion! Romance! (yes, yes, Jack,--we're coming!) Your heart, I say, Cleone, may have its way, because with all his wealth he has a father who--hus.h.!.+--at one time was the greatest man in all England,--a powerful man, Clo,--a famous man, indeed a man of the most--striking capabilities. So, when your heart--(dear me, how impatient Jack is!) Oh, supper? Excellent, for, child, now I come to think of it, I'm positively swooning with hunger!"

CHAPTER XLVI

WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF WITH SMALL THINGS IN GENERAL, AND A PEBBLE IN PARTICULAR

To those who, standing apart from the rush and flurry of life, look upon the world with a seeing eye, it is, surely, interesting to observe on what small and apparently insignificant things great matters depend. To the student History abounds with examples, and to the philosopher they are to be met with everywhere.

But how should Barnabas (being neither a student nor a philosopher) know, or even guess, that all his fine ideas and intentions were to be frustrated, and his whole future entirely changed by nothing more nor less than--a pebble, an ordinary, smooth, round pebble, as innocent-seeming as any of its kind, yet (like young David's) singled out by destiny to be one of these "smaller things"?

They were sitting on the terrace, the d.u.c.h.ess, Cleone, Barnabas, and the Captain, and they were very silent,--the d.u.c.h.ess, perhaps, because she had supped adequately, the Captain because of his long, clay pipe, Cleone because she happened to be lost in contemplation of the moon, and Barnabas, because he was utterly absorbed in contemplation of Cleone.

The night was very warm and very still, and upon the quietude stole a sound--softer, yet more insistent than the whisper of wind among leaves,--a soothing, murmurous sound that seemed to make the pervading quiet but the more complete.

"How cool the brook sounds!" sighed the d.u.c.h.ess at last, "and the perfume of the roses,--oh dear me, how delicious! Indeed I think the scent of roses always seems more intoxicating after one has supped well, for, after all, one must be well-fed to be really romantic,--eh, Jack?"

"Romantic, mam!" snorted the Captain, "romantic,--I say bosh, mam! I say--"

"And then--the moon, Jack!"

"Moon? And what of it, mam,--I say--"

"Roses always smell sweeter by moonlight, Jack, and are far more inclined to--go to the head--"

"Roses!" snorted the Captain, louder than before, "you must be thinking of rum, mam, rum--"

"Then, Jack, to the perfume of roses, add the trill of a nightingale--"

"And of all rums, mam, give me real old Jamaica--"

"And to the trill of a nightingale, add again the murmur of an unseen brook, Jack--"

"Eh, mam, eh? Nightingales, brooks? I say--oh, Gad, mam!" and the Captain relapsed into tobacco-puffing indignation.

"What more could youth and beauty ask? Ah, Jack, Jack!" sighed the d.u.c.h.ess, "had you paid more attention to brooks and nightingales, and stared at the moon in your youth, you might have been a green young grandfather to-night, instead of a h.o.a.ry old bachelor in a shabby coat--sucking consolation from a clay pipe!"