'
'Ghost,' Caseldy smilingly corrected him.
'And Chloe would not have her fortune told, because she knew it!' Mr.
Beamish cast a paternal glance at her. 'And you, madam,' he bent his
brows on the duchess, 'received the communication that "All for Love"
will sink you as it raised you, put you down as it took you up, furnish
the feast to the raven gentleman which belongs of right to the golden
eagle?'
'Nothing of the sort! And I don't believe in any of their stories,' cried
the duchess, with a burning face.
'You deny it, madam?'
'I do. There was never a word of a raven or an eagle, that I'll swear,
now.'
'You deny that there was ever a word of "All for Love"? Speak, madam.'
'Their conjuror's rigmarole!' she murmured, huffing. 'As if I listened to
their nonsense!'
'Does the Duchess of Dewlap dare to give me the lie?' said Mr. Beamish.
'That's not my title, and you know it,' she retorted.
'What's this?' the angry beau sang out. 'What stuff is this you wear?' He
towered and laid hand on a border of lace of her morning dress, tore it
furiously and swung a length of it round him: and while the duchess
panted and trembled at an outrage that won for her the sympathy of every
lady present as well as the championship of the gentlemen, he tossed the
lace to the floor and trampled on it, making his big voice intelligible
over the uproar: 'Hear what she does! 'Tis a felony! She wears the stuff
with Betty Worcester's yellow starch on it for mock antique! And let who
else wears it strip it off before the town shall say we are
disgraced--when I tell you that Betty Worcester was hanged at Tyburn
yesterday morning for murder!'
There were shrieks.
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