Then, she stirred in his embrace, and, sighing, hid her face close against him and, with her face thus hidden, spoke:
"Yes, yes—I do trust you, Barnabas, utterly, utterly! Take me away with you—tonight, take me to Ronald and let us go away together, no matter where so long as—we go—together, Barnabas." Now when she said this, she could feel how his arms tightened about her, could hear how his breath caught sudden and sharp, and, though she kept her face hid from him, well she knew what look was in his eyes; therefore she lay trembling a little, sighing a little, and with fast-beating heart. And, in a while, Barnabas spoke:
"My lady," said he heavily, "would you trust yourself to—a publican's son?"
"If he would not be—too proud to—take me, Barnabas."
"Oh, my lady—can't you see that if I—if I take you with me tonight, you must be with me—always?"
Cleone sighed.
"And I am a discredited impostor, the—the jest of every club in
London!"
Cleone's hand stole up, and she touched his grimly-set chin very gently with one white finger.
"I am become a thing for the Fashionable World to sharpen its wits upon," he continued, keeping his stern gaze perseveringly averted. "And so, my lady—because I cannot any longer cheat folks into accepting me as a—gentleman, I shall in all probability become a farmer, some day."
Cleone sighed.