"Why, Barnabas," cried the Duchess, as Cleone and he stepped out of the shadow, "what's all this I hear about your horse,—what is the meaning of it?"
"That I must start for London to-night, Duchess."
"Leave to-night? Absurd!"
"And yet, madam, Cleone seems to think I must, and so does Viscount
Devenham,—see what he writes." So the Duchess took the Viscount's
letter and, having deciphered it with some difficulty, turned upon
Barnabas with admonishing finger upraised:
"So you 've been betting, eh? And with Sir Mortimer Carnaby and
Mr. Chichester of all people?"
"Yes, madam."
"Ah! You backed the Viscount, I suppose?"
"No,—I backed myself, Duchess."
"Gracious goodness—"
"But only to beat Sir Mortimer Carnaby—"