"Still there's always—the future, y' know!" nodded the Viscount. "Ah, yes, and with an uncommonly big capital F, y' know, Bev. It was decreed that we were to be friends by—well, you remember who, Bev—and friends we always must be, now and hereafter, amen, my dear fellow, and between you and me—and my Viscountess, I think the Future holds more happiness for you than ever the past did. Your turn will come, y' know, Bev—we shall be dancing at your wedding next—shan't we, Clem?"
"No, Dick," answered Barnabas, shaking his head, "I shall never marry."
"Hum!" said the Viscount, fingering his chin and apparently lost in contemplation of a fleecy cloud.
"Of that I am—quite certain."
"Ha!" said the Viscount, staring down at the toe of his glossy boot.
"But," continued Barnabas, "even in my loneliness—"
"His loneliness—hum!" said the Viscount, still contemplating his resplendent boot. "Clemency dear, do you suppose our Barnabas fellow will be groaning over his 'loneliness'—to-morrow, say?" Hereupon, the Viscount laughed suddenly, and for no apparent reason, while even Clemency's red lips curved and parted in a smile.
"But," said Barnabas, looking from one to the other, "I don't understand!"
"Neither do we, Bev. Only, dear fellow, remember this, 'there is a destiny which shapes our ends,' and—occasionally, a Duchess." But here, while Barnabas still glanced at them in perplexity, John Peterby appeared, bearing a tray whereon stood a decanter and glasses.
"Ha!—most excellent Peterby!" cried the Viscount, "you come pat to the occasion, as usual. Fill up for all of us, yes—even my small Imp yonder; I have a toast to give you." And, when the glasses brimmed, the Viscount turned and looked at Barnabas with his boyish smile. "Let us drink," said he, "to the Future, and the Duchess's move!"