"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."
"And where is she?"
"Haven't the least idea. However, I went down to beard my Roman, y' know, alone and single handed. Great mistake! Had Clemency been with me the flintiest of Roman P's would have relented, for who could resist--Clemency? As it was, I did my best, Bev--ran over her points--I mean--tried to describe her, y' know, but it was no go, Bev, no go--things couldn't have gone worse!"
"How?"
"'Sir,' says I--in an easy, off-hand tone, my dear fellow, and it was _after_ dinner, you'll understand,--'Sir, I've decided to act upon your very excellent advice, and get married. I intend to settle down, at once!' 'Indeed, Horatio?' says he,--(Roman of eye, Bev) 'who is she, pray?' 'The most glorious woman in the world, sir!' says I. 'Of course,' says he, 'but--which?' This steadied me a little, Bev, so I took a fresh grip and began again: 'Sir,' says I, 'beauty in itself is a poor thing at best--' 'Therefore,' says my Roman (quick as a flash, my dear fellow) 'therefore it is just as well that beauty should not come--entirely empty-handed!' 'Sir,' says I--(calmly, you'll understand, Bev, but with just sufficient firmness to let him see that, after all, he was only a father) 'Sir,' says I, 'beauty is a transient thing at best, unless backed up by virtue, honor, wisdom, courage, truth, purity, nobility of soul--' 'Horatio,' says my father (pulling me up short, Bev) 'you do well to put these virtues first but, in the wife of the future Earl of Bamborough, I hearken for such common, though necessary attributes as birth, breeding, and position, neither of which you have yet mentioned, but I'm impatient, perhaps, and these come at the end of your list,--pray continue.' 'Sir,' says I, 'my future wife is above such petty considerations!' 'Ah!' says my Roman, 'I feared so! She is then, a--nobody, I presume?' 'Sir--most beautiful girl in all England,' says I. 'Ha!' says my Roman, nodding, 'then she _is_ a nobody; that settles it.' 'She's all that is pure and good!' says I. 'And a nobody, beyond a doubt!' says he. 'She's everything sweet, noble and brave,' says I. 'But--a nobody!' says he again. Now I'll confess I grew a little heated at this, my dear fellow, though I kept my temper admirably--oh, I made every allowance for him, as a self-respecting son should, but, though filial, I maintained a front of adamant, Bev. But, deuce take it! he kept on at me with his confounded 'nobody' so long that I grew restive at last and jibbed. 'So you are determined to marry a nobody, are you, Horatio?' says he. 'No, my Lord,' says I, rising, (and with an air of crushing finality, Bev) 'I am about to be honored with the hand of one who, by stress of circumstances, was for some time waiting maid at the 'Spotted Cow' inn, at Frittenden.' Well, Bev--that did it, y' know! My Roman couldn't say a word, positively gaped at me and, while he gaped, I bowed, and walked out entirely master of the situation. Result-- independence, happiness, and--beggary."
"But, Dick,--how shall you live?"
"Oh, I have an old place at Devenham, in the wilds of Kent,--we shall rusticate there."
"And you will give up Almack's, White's--all the glory of the Fashionable World?"
"Oh, man!" cried the Viscount, radiant of face, "how can all these possibly compare? I shall have Clemency!"
"But surely you will find it very quiet, after London and the clubs?"
"Yes, it will be very quiet at Devenham, Bev," said the Viscount, very gently, "and there are roses there, and she loves roses, I know! We shall be alone in the world together,--alone! Yes, it will be very quiet, Bev--thank heaven!"
"The loneliness will pall, after a time, Dick--say a month. And the roses will fade and wither--as all things must, it seems," said Barnabas bitterly, whereupon the Viscount turned and looked at him and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Why, Bev," said he, "my dear old Bev,--what is it? You're greatly changed, I think; it isn't like you to be a cynic. You are my friend, but if you were my bitterest enemy I should forgive you, full and freely, because of your behavior to Clemency. My dear fellow, are you in any trouble--any danger? I have been away only a week, yet I come back to find the town humming with stories of your desperate play. I hear that D'Argenson plucked you for close on a thousand the other day--"
"But I won fifteen hundred the same night, Dick."
"And lost all that, and more, to the Poodle later!"
"Why--one can't always win, Dick."
"Oh, Bev, my dear fellow, do you remember shaking your grave head at me because I once dropped five hundred in one of the hells?"
"I fear I must have been very--young then, Dick!"
"And to-day, Bev, to-day you are a notorious gambler, and you sneer at love! Gad! what a change is here! My dear fellow, what does it all mean?"
Barnabas hesitated, and this history might have been very different in the ending but, even as he met the Viscount's frank and anxious look, the door was flung wide and Tressider, the thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers, rushed in, followed by the Marquis and three or four other fine gentlemen, and, beholding the Viscount, burst into a torrent of speech:
"Ha! Devenham! there you are,--back from the wilds, eh? Heard the latest? No, I'll be shot if you have--none of you have, and I'm bursting to tell it--positively exploding, damme if I'm not. It was last night, at Crockford's you'll understand, and every one was there--Skiffy, Apollo, the Poodle, Red Herrings, No-grow, the Galloping Countryman and your obedient humble. One o'clock was striking as the game broke up, and there's Beverley yawning and waiting for his hat, d' ye see, when in comes the Golden Ball. 'Ha, Beverley!' says he, 'you gamble, they tell me?' 'Oh, now and then,' says Beverley. 'Why then,' says Golden Ball, 'you may have heard that I do a little that way, myself?' Now you mention it, I believe I have,' says Beverley. 'Ha!' says Golden Ball, winking at the rest of us, 'suppose we have a match, you and I--call your game.' 'Sir,' says Beverley, yawning again, 'it is past one o'clock, and I make it a rule never to play after one o'clock except for rather high stakes,' (Rather high stakes says he! and to the Golden Ball,--oh curse me!) 'Do you, begad!' says Golden Ball, purple in the face--'ha! you may have heard that I occasionally venture a hundred or so myself--whatever the hour! Waiter--cards!' 'Sir,' says Beverley, I've been playing ever since three o'clock this afternoon and I'm weary of cards.' 'Oh, just as you wish,' says Golden Ball, 'at battledore and shuttlecock I'm your man, or rolling the bones, or--' 'Dice, by all means!' says Beverley, yawning again. 'At how much a throw?' says Golden Ball, sitting down and rattling the box. 'Well,' says Beverley, 'a thousand, I think, should do to begin with!' ('A thou-sand,' says he, damme if he didn't!) Oh Gad, but you should have seen the Golden Ball, what with surprise and his cravat, I thought he'd choke--shoot me if I didn't! 'Done!' says he at last (for we were all round the table thick as flies you'll understand) --and to it they went, and in less than a quarter of an hour, Beverley had bubbled him of close on seven thousand! Quickest thing I ever saw, oh, curse me!"
"Oh, Bev," sighed the Viscount, under cover of the ensuing talk and laughter, "what a perfectly reckless fellow you are!"
"Why, you see, Dick," Barnabas answered, as Peterby re-entered with his hat and cloak, "a man can't always lose!"
"Beverley," said the Marquis, proffering his arm, "I have my chariot below; I thought we might drive round to the club together, you and Devenham and I, if you are ready?"
"Thank you, Marquis, yes, I'm quite ready."
Thus, with a Marquis on his right, and a Viscount on his left, and divers noble gentlemen in his train, Barnabas went forth to his triumph.
CHAPTER LXII
WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS TRIUMPHED IN SPITE OF ALL
Never had White's, that historic