Pray, Mr. Beamish! You'll offend me, sir. I'm not going to be a mock.
You'll offend my duke, sir. He'd die rather than have my feelings hurt.
Here's all my pleasure spoilt. I won't and I sha'n't enter the town as
duchess of that stupid name, so call 'em back, call 'em back this
instant. I know who I am and what I am, and I know what's due to me, I
do.'
Beau Beamish rejoined, 'I too. Chloe will tell you I am lord here.'
'Then I'll go home, I will. I won't be laughed at for a great lady ninny.
I'm a real lady of high rank, and such I'll appear. What 's a Duchess of
Dewlap? One might as well be Duchess of Cowstail, Duchess of Mopsend. And
those people! But I won't be that. I won't be played with. I see them
staring! No, I can make up my mind, and I beg you to call back your men,
or I'll go back home.' She muttered, 'Be made fun of--made a fool of!'
'Your Grace's chariot is behind,' said the beau.
His despotic coolness provoked her to an outcry and weeping: she
repeated, 'Dewlap! Dewlap!' in sobs; she shook her shoulders and hid her
face.
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