"The Duke! Get out of the way, Chloe! Let me see!"
"And now he's coming down head first!"
"What will the Duchess say? And he used to be a Cabinet Minister!"
"He is agile! I never saw anything go so quick. He's making for the shrubbery now on all fours!"
"Chloe, I will see him doing it. Make room for me at once!"
"He's up an acacia! Oh, oh! And now he's jumped into an elm!"
"He'll be killed! No Duke can go on so without being killed."
"The Duke! Don't be so absurd! It's Boswell! He's got away! He's escaped! Heaven be praised! He's got away! How thankful Huskinson will be! The Duke's returning. He's all over green stuff, and foaming at the mouth. I'm glad of it—cruel wretch, to hunt an innocent little monkey so!"
At this point in the panorama Mrs. Verulam forced her way to the window and beheld his Grace, in the very extremity of baffled fury, cursing and swearing at the pitch of his voice, returning to the duelling party, who had been attentively observing his endeavours to clear the ground of monkeys from the shadow of the mushroom-house—in which, by the way, the Duchess was now beginning steadily to suffocate. The noise occasioned by the chase of Boswell had awakened the boy with the sharply-pointed nose from his seraph's slumber, and, anxious to join in the larks that seemed going forward, he now proceeded to swarm over the hedge, and joined the group on the lawn just as his Grace returned to it, and, with many oaths, assumed a posture of attack and presented his hoe at Mr. Bush.