"Deuce take me--it's Beverley!" exclaimed the Marquis, and held out
his hand.
"What--you know each other?" the Duchess inquired.
"Mr. Beverley is riding in the steeplechase on the fifteenth," the
Marquis answered. Hereupon Sir George stared harder than ever, and
gave another tug at his high cravat, while Major Piper, who had been
looking very hard at nothing in particular, glanced at Barnabas with
a gleam of interest and said "Haw!"
As for the Duchess, she clapped her hands.
"And he never told me a word of it!" she exclaimed. "Of course all
my money is on Jerningham,--though 'Moonraker' carries the odds, but
I must have a hundred or two on Mr. Beverley for--friendship's sake."
"Friendship!" exclaimed the Marquis, "oh, begad!" Here he took out
his snuff-box, tapped it, and put it in his pocket again.
"Yes, gentlemen," smiled the Duchess, "this is a friend of mine
who--dropped in upon me, as it were, quite unexpectedly--over the
wall, in fact."
"Wall!" exclaimed Sir George.
"The deuce you did, Beverley!" said the Marquis.
As for Major Piper, he hitched his dolman round, and merely said: "Haw!"
"Yes," said Barnabas, glancing from one to the other, "I am a
trespasser here, and, Sir George, I fear I damaged some of your
flowers!"
"Flowers!" repeated Sir George, staring from Barnabas to the Duchess
and back again, "Oh!"
"And now--pray let me introduce you," said the Duchess. "My friend
Mr. Beverley--Sir George Annersley. Mr. Beverley--Major Piper."
"A friend of her Grace is always welcome here, sir," said Sir George,
extending a mottled hand.
"Delighted!" smiled the Major, saluting him in turn. "Haw!"
"But what in the world brings you here, Beverley?" inquired the
Marquis.
"I do," returned his great-aunt. "Many a man has climbed a wall on
my account before to-day, Marquis, and remember I'm only
just--seventy-one, and growing younger every hour,--now am I not,
Major?"
"Haw!--Precisely! Not a doubt, y' Grace. Soul and honor! Haw!"
"Marquis--your arm, Mr. Beverley--yours! Now, Sir George, show us
the way to the marquee; I'm dying for a dish of tea, I vow I am!"
Thus, beneath the protecting wing of a Duchess was Barnabas given
his first taste of Quality and Blood. Which last, though blue beyond
all shadow of doubt, yet manifested itself in divers quite ordinary
ways as,--in complexions of cream and roses; in skins sallow and
wrinkled; in noses haughtily Roman or patricianly Greek, in noses
mottled and unclassically uplifted; in black hair, white hair, yellow,
brown, and red hair;--such combinations as he had seen many and many
a time on village greens, and at country wakes and fairs. Yes, all
was the same, and yet--how vastly different! For here voices were
softly modulated, arms and hands gracefully borne, heads carried high,
movement itself an artful science. Here eyes were raised or lowered
with studied effect; beautiful shoulders, gracefully shrugged,
became dimpled and irresistible; faces with perfect profiles were
always--in profile. Here, indeed, Age and Homeliness went clothed in
magnificence, and Youth and Beauty walked hand in hand with Elegance;
while everywhere was a graceful ease that had been learned and
studied with the Catechism. Barnabas was in a world of silks and
satins and glittering gems, of broadcloth and fine linen, where such
things are paramount and must be lived up to; a world where the
friendship of a Duchess may transform a nobody into a SOMEBODY, to
be bowed to by the most elaborate shirtfronts, curtsied to by the
haughtiest of turbans, and found worthy of the homage of bewitching
eyes, seductive dimples, and entrancing profiles.