"Why—Duchess!" he exclaimed, and, giving Peterby the reins, stepped out of the phaeton.
"Ah! is that you, Mr. Beverley?" sighed the Duchess, looking up from her embroidery, which, like herself, was very elaborate, very dainty, and very small. "You find me here, sitting by the wayside,—and a very desolate figure I must look, I'm sure,—you find me here because I have been driven away by the tantrums of an undutiful god-daughter, and the barbarity of a bloodthirsty buccaneer. I mean the Captain, of course. And all because I had the forethought to tell Cleone her nose was red,—which it was,—sunburn you know, and because I remarked that the Captain was growing as rotund as a Frenchman, which he is,—I mean fat, of course. All Frenchmen are fat—at least some are. And then he will wear such a shabby old coat! So here I am, Mr. Beverley, very lonely and very sad, but industrious you see, quite as busy as Penelope, who used to spin webs all day long,—which sounds as though she were a spider instead of a classical lady who used to undo them again at night,—I mean the webs, not the spiders. But, indeed, you're very silent, Mr. Beverley, though I'm glad to see you are here so well to time."
"To time, madam?"
"Because, you see, I 've won my bet. Oh yes, indeed, I bet about everything nowadays,—oh, feverishly, sir, and shall do, until the race is over, I suppose."
"Indeed, Duchess?"
"Yes. I bet Cleone an Indian shawl against a pair of beaded mittens that you would be here, to-day, before ten o'clock. So you see, you are hours before your time, and the mittens are mine. Talking of Cleone, sir, she's in the orchard. She's also in a shocking temper—indeed quite cattish, so you'd better stay here and talk to me. But then—she's alone, and looking vastly handsome, I'll admit, so, of course, you're dying to be gone—now aren't you?"
"No," Barnabas replied, and turning, bade Peterby drive on to the house.
"Then you ought to be!" retorted the Duchess, shaking an admonitory finger at him, yet smiling also as the carriage rolled away. "Youth can never prefer to listen to a chattering old woman—in a wig!"
"But you see, madam, I need your help, your advice," said Barnabas gravely.
"Ah, now I love giving people advice! It's so pleasant and—easy!"