"But," said Barnabas, frowning and shaking his head, "Sir Mortimer

Carnaby has her promise!"

"Fiddlesticks!"

"She gave him the rose!" said Barnabas, between set teeth. The

Duchess tittered.

"Dear heart! how tragic you are!" she sighed. "Suppose she did,—what then? And besides—hum! This time it is young D'Arcy, it seems,—callow, pink, and quite harmless."

"Madam?" said Barnabas, wondering.

"Over there—behind the marble faun,—quite harmless, and very pink, you'll notice. I mean young D'Arcy—not the faun. Clever minx! Now I mean Cleone, of course—there she is!" Following the direction of the Duchess's pointing fan, Barnabas saw Cleone, sure enough. Her eyes were drooped demurely before the ardent gaze of the handsome, pink-cheeked young soldier who stood before her, and in her white fingers she held—a single red rose. Now, all at once, (and as though utterly unconscious of the burning, watchful eyes of Barnabas) she lifted the rose to her lips, and, smiling, gave it into the young soldier's eager hand. Then they strolled away, his epaulette very near the gleaming curls at her temple.

"Lud, young sir!" exclaimed the Duchess, catching Barnabas by the coat, "how dreadfully sudden you are in your movements—"

"Madam, pray loose me!"

"Why?"

"I'm going—I cannot bear—any more!"

"You mean—?"

"I mean that—she has—"

"A very remarkable head, she is as resourceful as I was—almost."

"Resourceful!" exclaimed Barnabas, "she is—"

"An extremely clever girl—"

"Madam, pray let me go."

"No, sir! my finger is twisted in your buttonhole,—if you pull yourself away I expect you'll break it, so pray don't pull; naturally, I detest pain. And I have much to talk about."

"As you will, madam," said Barnabas, frowning.

"First, tell me—you're quite handsome when you frown,—first, sir, why weren't you formally presented to me with the other guests?"

"Because I'm not a guest, madam."

"Sir—explain yourself."

"I mean that I came—over the wall, madam."

"The wall! Climbed over?"

"Yes, madam!"

"Dear heaven! The monstrous audacity of the man! You came to see

Cleone, of course?"

"Yes, madam."

"Ah, very right,—very proper! I remember I had a lover—in the remote ages, of course,—who used to climb—ah, well,—no matter! Though his wall was much higher than yours yonder." Here the Duchess sighed tenderly. "Well, you came to see Cleone, you found her,—and nicely you behaved to each other when you met! Youth is always so dreadfully tragic! But then what would love be without a little tragedy? And oh—dear heaven!—how you must adore each other! Oh, Youth! Youth!—and there's Sir George Annersley—!"

"Then, madam, you must excuse me!" said Barnabas, glancing furtively from the approaching figures to the adjacent wall.

"Oh dear, no. Sir George is with Jerningharn and Major Piper, a heavy dragoon—the heaviest in all the world, I'm sure. You must meet them."

"No, indeed—I—"

"Sir," said the Duchess, buttonholing him again, "I insist! Oh, Sir George—gentlemen!" she called. Hereupon three lounging figures turned simultaneously, and came hurrying towards them.

"Why, Duchess!" exclaimed Sir George, a large, mottled gentleman in an uncomfortable cravat, "we have all been wondering what had become of your Grace, and—" Here Sir George's sharp eye became fixed upon Barnabas, upon his spurred boots, his buckskins, his dusty coat; and Sir George's mouth opened, and he gave a tug at his cravat.

"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."