"Ha!" cried the Captain, "my dear fellow, we're glad--I say we're all of us glad to see you. Welcome to 'The Gables,'--eh, Clo?"
And Cleone? With what gracious ease she greeted him! With what clear eyes she looked at him! With what demure dignity she gave him her white hand to kiss! As though--for all the world as though she could ever hope to deceive anything so old and so very knowing as the ancient finger-post upon the London road!
"Clo dear," said the Duchess, "they're going to talk horses and racing, and bets and things,--I know they are,--your arm, my love. Now,--lead on, gentlemen. And now, my dear," she continued, speaking in Cleone's ear as Barnabas and the Captain moved on, "he simply--adores you!"
"Really, God-mother--how clever of you!" said Cleone, her eyes brim full of merriment, "how wonderful you are!"
"Yes, my lady Pert,--he worships you and, consequently, is deceiving you with every breath he draws!"
"Deceiving me--!"
"With every moment he lives!"
"But--oh, God-mother--!"
"Cleone,--he is not what he seems!"
"Deceiving me?"
"His very name is false!"
"What do you mean? Ah no, no--I'm sure he would not, and yet--oh, God-mother,--why?"
"Because--hush, Cleone--he's immensely rich, one of the wealthiest young men in London, and--hush! He would be--loved for himself alone. So, Cleone,--listen,--he may perhaps come to you with some wonderful story of poverty and humble birth. He may tell you his father was only a--a farmer, or a tinker, or a--an inn-keeper. Oh dear me,--so delightfully romantic! Therefore, loving him as you do--"
"I don't!"
"With every one of your yellow hairs--"
"I do--_not_!"
"From the sole of your foot--"
"God-mother!"
"To the crown of your wilful head,--oh, Youth, Youth!--you may let your heart answer as it would. Oh Fire! Passion! Romance! (yes, yes, Jack,--we're coming!) Your heart, I say, Cleone, may have its way, because with all his wealth he has a father who--hush!--at one time was the greatest man in all England,--a powerful man, Clo,--a famous man, indeed a man of the most--striking capabilities. So, when your heart--(dear me, how impatient Jack is!) Oh, supper? Excellent, for, child, now I come to think of it, I'm positively swooning with hunger!"
CHAPTER XLVI
WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF WITH SMALL THINGS IN GENERAL, AND A PEBBLE IN PARTICULAR
To those who, standing apart from the rush and flurry of life, look upon the world with a seeing eye, it is, surely, interesting to observe on what small and apparently insignificant things great matters depend. To the student History abounds with examples, and to the philosopher they are to be met with everywhere.
But how should Barnabas (being neither a student nor a philosopher) know, or even guess, that all his fine ideas and intentions were to be frustrated, and his whole future entirely changed by nothing more nor less than--a pebble, an ordinary, smooth, round pebble, as innocent-seeming as any of its kind, yet (like young David's) singled out by destiny to be one of these "smaller things"?
They were sitting on the terrace, the Duchess, Cleone, Barnabas, and the Captain, and they were very silent,--the Duchess, perhaps, because she had supped adequately, the Captain because of his long, clay pipe, Cleone because she happened to be lost in contemplation of the moon, and Barnabas, because he was utterly absorbed in contemplation of Cleone.
The night was very warm and very still, and upon the quietude stole a sound--softer, yet more insistent than the whisper of wind among leaves,--a soothing, murmurous sound that seemed to make the pervading quiet but the more complete.
"How cool the brook sounds!" sighed the Duchess at last, "and the perfume of the roses,--oh dear me, how delicious! Indeed I think the scent of roses always seems more intoxicating after one has supped well, for, after all, one must be well-fed to be really romantic,--eh, Jack?"
"Romantic, mam!" snorted the Captain, "romantic,--I say bosh, mam! I say--"
"And then--the moon, Jack!"
"Moon? And what of it, mam,--I say--"
"Roses always smell sweeter by moonlight, Jack, and are far more inclined to--go to the head--"
"Roses!" snorted the Captain, louder than before, "you must be thinking of rum, mam, rum--"
"Then, Jack, to the perfume of roses, add the trill of a nightingale--"
"And of all rums, mam, give me real old Jamaica--"
"And to the trill of a nightingale, add again the murmur of an unseen brook, Jack--"
"Eh, mam, eh? Nightingales, brooks? I say--oh, Gad, mam!" and the Captain relapsed into tobacco-puffing indignation.
"What more could youth and beauty ask? Ah, Jack, Jack!" sighed the Duchess, "had you paid more attention to brooks and nightingales, and stared at the moon in your youth, you might have been a green young grandfather to-night, instead of a hoary old bachelor in a shabby coat--sucking consolation from a clay pipe!"
"Consolation, mam! For what--I say, I demand to know for what?"
"Loneliness, Jack!"
"Eh, Duchess,--what, mam? Haven't I got my dear Clo, and the Bo'sun, eh, mam--eh?"
"The Bo'sun, yes,--he smokes a pipe, but Cleone can't, so she looks at the moon instead,--don't you dear?"
"The moon, God-mother?" exclaimed Cleone, bringing her gaze earthwards on the instant. "Why I,--I--the moon, indeed!"
"And she listens to the brook, Jack,--don't you, my dove?"
"Why, God-mother, I--the brook? Of course not!" said Cleone.
"And, consequently, Jack, you mustn't expect to keep her much longer--"
"Eh!" cried the bewildered Captain, "what's all this, Duchess,--I say, what d'ye mean, mam?"
"Some women," sighed the Duchess, "some women never know they're in love until they've married the wrong man, and then it's too late, poor things. But our sweet Clo, on the contrary--"
"Love!" snorted the Captain louder than ever, "now sink me, mam,--I say, sink and scuttle me; but what's love got to do with Clo, eh, mam?"
"More than you think, Jack--ask her!"
But lo! my lady had risen, and was already descending the terrace steps, a little hurriedly perhaps, yet in most stately fashion. Whereupon Barnabas, feeling her Grace's impelling hand upon his arm, obeyed the imperious command and rising, also descended the steps,--though in fashion not at all stately,--and strode after my lady, and being come beside her, walked on--yet found nothing to say, abashed by her very dignity. But, after they had gone thus some distance, venturing to glance at her averted face, Barnabas espied the dimple beside her mouth.
"Cleone," said he suddenly, "what _has_ love to do with you?"
Now, for a moment, she looked up at him, then her lashes drooped, and she turned away.
"Oh, sir," she