'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.
Hardly had he finished speaking before the assembly began to melt; he
stood in the centre like a pole unwinding streamers, amid a confusion of
hurrying dresses, the sound and whirl and drift whereof was as that of
the autumnal strewn leaves on a wind rising in November.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76