But now, seeing the flaming scorn of him in her eyes, in the passionate quiver of her hands, he grew afraid, cowed by her very womanhood.
"Indeed," he stammered, "you are unjust. I—I did not mean—"
"Go!" said she, cold as ice, "get back over the wall. Oh! I saw you climb over like a—thief! Go away, before I call for help—before I call the grooms and stable-boys to whip you out into the road where you belong—go, I say!" And frowning now, she stamped her foot, and pointed to the wall. Then Barnabas laughed softty, savagely, and, reaching out, caught her up in his long arms and crushed her to him.
"Call if you will, Cleone," said he, "but listen first! I said to you that my wife should come to me immaculate—fortune's spoiled darling though she be,—petted, wooed, pampered though she is,—and, by God, so you shall! For I love you, Cleone, and if I live, I will some day call you 'wife,'—in spite of all your lovers, and all the roses that ever bloomed. Now, Cleone,—call them if you will." So saying he set her down and freed her from his embrace. But my lady, leaning breathless in the doorway, only looked at him once,—frowning a little, panting a little,—a long wondering look beneath her lashes, and, turning, was gone among the leaves. Then Barnabas picked up the broken fan, very tenderly, and put it into his bosom, and so sank down into the chair, his chin propped upon his fist, frowning blackly at the glory of the afternoon.
CHAPTER XXXIX
IN WHICH THE PATIENT READER IS INTRODUCED TO AN ALMOST HUMAN DUCHESS
"Very dramatic, sir! Though, indeed, you missed an opportunity, and—gracious heaven, how he frowns!" A woman's voice, sharp, high-pitched, imperious.
Barnabas started, and glancing up, beheld an ancient lady, very small and very upright; her cheeks were suspiciously pink, her curls suspiciously dark and luxuriant, but her eyes were wonderfully young and handsome; one slender mittened hand rested upon the ivory head of a stick, and in the other she carried a small fan.
"Now, he stares!" she exclaimed, as she met his look. "Lud, how he stares! As if I were a ghost, or a goblin, instead of only an old woman with raddled cheeks and a wig. Oh, yes! I wear a wig, sir, and very hideous I look without it! But even I was young once upon a time—many, many years ago, and quite as beautiful as She, indeed, rather more so, I think,—and I should have treated you exactly as She did—only more so,—I mean Cleone. Your blonde women are either too cold or overpassionate,—I know, for my hair was as yellow as Cleone's, hundreds of years ago, and I think, more abundant. To-day, being only a dyed brunette, I am neither too cold nor over-passionate, and I tell you, sir, you deserved it, every word."
Here Barnabas rose, and, finding nothing to say, bowed.