"Indeed!" said Barnabas, who for the last minute or so had been watching a man who was strolling idly up the lane, a tall, languid gentleman in a jaunty hat. "You seem all at once in a mighty hurry to get to London."
"London!" repeated the Viscount, staring blankly. "London? Oh, why yes, to be sure, I was going to London; but—hum—fact of the matter is, I've changed my mind about it, my dear Bev; I'm going—back. I'm following Carnaby."
"Ah!" said Barnabas, still intent upon the man in the lane,
"Carnaby again."
"Oh, damn the fellow!" exclaimed the Viscount.
"But—he is your friend."
"Hum!" said the Viscount; "but Carnaby is always—Carnaby, and she—"
"Meaning the Lady Cleone," said Barnabas.
"Is a woman—"
"'The lovely Meredith'!" nodded Barnabas.
"Exactly!" said the Viscount, frowning; "and Carnaby is the devil with women."