'This month!' he said, prognostically
shaking and moaning. 'I would this month were over, and that we were
well purged of it.'
Mr. Beamish reassured him. The wit and sprightliness of Chloe were so
famous as to be considered medical, he affirmed; she was besieged for
her company; she composed and sang impromptu verses, she played harp and
harpsichord divinely, and touched the guitar, and danced, danced like the
silvery moon on the waters of the mill pool. He concluded by saying that
she was both humane and wise, humble-minded and amusing, virtuous yet not
a Tartar; the best of companions for her Grace the young duchess.
Moreover, he boldly engaged to carry the duchess through the term of her
visit under a name that should be as good as a masquerade for concealing
his Grace's, while giving her all the honours due to her rank.
'You strictly interpret my wishes,' said the duke; 'all honours, the
foremost place, and my wrath upon man or woman gainsaying them!'
'Mine! if you please, duke,' said Mr. Beamish.
'A thousand pardons! I leave it to you, cousin. I could not be in safer
hands. I am heartily bounders to you. Chloe, then. By the way, she has
a decent respect for age?'
'She is reverentially inclined.'
'Not that. She is, I would ask, no wanton prattler of the charms and
advantages of youth?'
'She has a young adorer that I have dubbed Alonzo, whom she scarce
notices.
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