‘And there, the thought of it makes you miserable!’
‘It does.’
‘You needn’t, I’m sure.’
Chloe looked at her.
The duchess turned her head. ‘Why can’t you be gay, as you were at the supper-table, Chloe? You’re out to him like a flower when the sun jumps over the hill; you’re up like a lark in the dews; as I used to be when I thought of nothing. Oh, the early morning; and I’m sleepy. What a beast I feel, with my grandeur, and the time in an hour or two for the birds to sing, and me ready to drop. I must go and undress.’
She rushed on Chloe, kissed her hastily, declaring that she was quite dead of fatigue, and dismissed her. ‘I don’t want help, I can undress myself. As if Susan Barley couldn’t do that for herself! and you may shut your door, I sha’n’t have any frights to-night, I’m so tired out.’
‘Another kiss,’ Chloe said tenderly.
‘Yes, take it’—the duchess leaned her cheek—‘but I’m so tired I don’t know what I’m doing.’
‘It will not be on your conscience,’ Chloe answered, kissing her warmly.
Will those words she withdrew, and the duchess closed the door. She ran a bolt in it immediately.