"Mr. Beverley—oh, Barnabas—dear brother!" she said softly, "but for you, this day might never have dawned for us—" and she gave both her hands into his. "Oh, believe me, in my joy, as in my sorrow, I shall remember you always."
"And I too, Bev!" added the Viscount.
"And," continued Clemency, her voice a little tearful, "whatever happiness the future may hold will only make that memory all the dearer, Barnabas."
"Gad, yes, that it will, Bev!" added the Viscount. "And, my dear fellow," he pursued, growing somewhat incoherent because of his earnestness, "I want to tell you that—that because I—I'm so deucedly happy myself, y' know, I wish that my luck had been yours—no, I don't mean that exactly, but what I meant to say was that I—that you deserve to—to—oh, blister me! Tell him what I mean, Clemency dear," the Viscount ended, a little hoarsely.
"That you deserve to know a love as great, a joy as deep as ours, dear Barnabas."
"Exactly!" nodded the Viscount, with a fond look at his young wife; "Precisely what I meant, Bev, for I'm the proudest, happiest fellow alive, y' know. And what's more, my dear fellow, in marrying Clemency I marry also an heiress possessed of all the attributes necessary to bowl over a thousand flinty-hearted Roman P's, and my Roman's heart—though tough, was never quite a flint, after all."
"Indeed, sir—he would have welcomed me without a penny!" retorted
Clemency, blushing, and consequently looking lovelier than ever.
"Why—to be sure he would!" said Barnabas. "Indeed, who wouldn't?"
"Exactly, Bev!" replied the Viscount, "she cornered him with the first glance, floored him with a second, and had him fairly beaten out of the ring with a third. Gad, if you'd only been there to see!"
"Would I had!" sighed Barnabas.