'A gentleman?'
'On horseback.'
The duchess popped her head through the window on an impulse to measure
the distance between the two hills.
'Never!' she cried.
'Why, madam, did he deliver no message to announce me?' said the beau,
ruffling.
'Goodness gracious! You must be Mr. Beamish,' she replied.
He laid his hat on his bosom, and invited her to quit her carriage for a
seat beside him. She stipulated, 'If you are really Mr. Beamish?' He
frowned, and raised his head to convince her; but she would not be
impressed, and he applied to Chloe to establish his identity. Hearing
Chloe's name, the duchess called out, 'Oh! there, now, that's enough, for
Chloe's my maid here, and I know she's a lady born, and we're going to be
friends. Hand me to Chloe. And you are Chloe?' she said, after a frank
stride from step to step of the carriages. 'And don't mind being my maid?
You do look a nice, kind creature. And I see you're a lady born; I know
in a minute. You're dark, I'm fair; we shall suit. And tell
me--hush!--what dreadful long eyes he has! I shall ask you presently what
you think of me.
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