"Do you remember that he said it was meant we should be--friends?"
"Yes."
"Well I--think he was right,--I'm sure he was right. I--didn't know
how few my friends were until I--fell out with you. And so--I'm here
to--to ask your pardon, and I--don't know how to do it, only--oh,
deuce take it! Will you give me your hand, Bev?"
But before the words had well left his lips, Barnabas had sprang
forward, and so they stood, hand clasped in hand, looking into each
other's eyes as only true friends may.
"I--we--owe you so much, Bev--Clemency has told me--"
"Indeed, Dick," said Barnabas, a little hastily, "you are a
fortunate man to have won the love of so beautiful a woman, and one
so noble."
"My dear fellow," said the Viscount, very solemn, "it is so
wonderful that, sometimes, I--almost fear that it can't be true."
"The love of a woman is generally a very uncertain thing!" said
Barnabas bitterly.
"But Clemency isn't like an ordinary woman," said the Viscount,
smiling very tenderly, "in all the world there is only one Clemency
and she is all truth, and honor, and purity. Sometimes, Bev, I feel
so--so deuced unworthy, that I am almost afraid to touch her."
"Yes, I suppose there are a few such women in the world," said
Barnabas, turning away. "But, speaking of the Apostle of Peace, have
you met him again--lately?"
"No, not since that morning behind the 'Spotted Cow.' Why?"
"Well, you mentioned him."
"Why yes, but only because I couldn't think of any other way
of--er--beginning. You were so devilish high and haughty, Bev."
"And what of Clemency?"
"She has promised to--to marry me, next month,--to marry me--me, Bev.
Oh, my dear fellow, I'm the very happiest man alive, and, egad, that
reminds me! I'm also the discredited and disinherited son of a
flinty-hearted Roman."
"What Dick,--do you mean he has--cut you off?"
"As much as ever he could, my dear fellow, which reduces my income
by a half. Deuced serious thing, y' know, Bev. Shall have to get rid
of my stable, and the coach; 'Moonraker' must go, too, I'm afraid.
Yes, Bev," sighed the Viscount, shaking his head at the reflection
of his elegant person in the mirror, "you behold in me a beggar, and
the cause--Clemency. But then, I know I am the very happiest beggar
in all this wide world, and the cause--Clemency!"
"I feared your father would never favor such a match, Dick, but--"
"Favor it! Oh, bruise and blister me!--"
"Have you told Clemency?"
"Not yet--"
"Has he seen her?"
"No, that's the deuce of it, she's away with her father, y' know.
Bit of a mystery about him, I fancy--she made me promise to be
patient a while, and ask no questions."