"Viscount," said he, "for that I thank you most sincerely, most deeply. But, indeed, it will not be necessary, seeing I am here to do it for myself, and to answer such questions as I think—proper."
"Ah, Mr.—Beverley!" drawled Sir Mortimer, seating himself on the tale and crossing his legs, "you come pat, and since you are here, I desire a word with you."
"As many as you wish, sir," answered Barnabas, and he looked very youthful as he bowed his curly head.
"It would seem, Mr. Beverley, that you are something of a mystery, and I, for one, don't like mysteries. Then it has been suggested that you and I have met before our introduction, and, egad! now I come to look at you more attentively, your face does seem familiar, and I am curious to know who you may happen to be?"
"Sir," said Barnabas, looking more youthful than ever, "such rare condescension, such lively interest in my concerns, touches me—touches me deeply," and he bowed, lower than before.
"Suppose, sir," retorted Sir Mortimer, his cheek flushing a little, "suppose you answer my question, and tell me plainly who and what you are?" and he stared at Barnabas, swinging his leg to and fro as he awaited his reply.
"Sir," said Barnabas, "I humbly beg leave to remark, that as to who
I am can concern only my—friends. As to what I am concerns only my
Maker and myself—"
"Oh, vastly fine," nodded Sir Mortimer, "but that's no answer."
"And yet I greatly fear it must suffice—for you, sir," sighed Barnabas. Sir Mortimer's swinging foot grew still, and he frowned suddenly.
"Now look you, sir," said he slowly, and with a menace in his eyes, "when I trouble to ask a question, I expect an answer—"