The Tale of Chloe | Page 7

our noses with
an air. Society, my Chloe, is a recommencement upon an upper level of
the savage system; we must have our sacrifices. As, for instance, what
say you of myself beside our booted bumpkin squires?'
'Hundreds of them, Mr. Beamish !'
'That is a holocaust of squires reduced to make an incense for me,
though you have not performed Druid rites and packed them in gigantic
osier ribs. Be philosophical, but accept your personal dues. Grant us
ours too. I have a serious intention to preserve this young duchess, and
I expect my task to be severe. I carry the banner aforesaid; verily and
penitentially I do. It is an error of the vulgar to suppose that all is
dragon in the dragon's jaws.'
'Men are his fangs and claws.'
'Ay, but the passion for his fiery breath is in woman. She will take her
leap and have her jump, will and will! And at the point where she will
and she won't, the dragon gulps and down she goes! However, the
business is to keep our buttercup duchess from that same point. Is she
near?'
'I can see her,' said Chloe.
Beau Beamish requested a sketch of her, and Chloe began: 'She is
ravishing.'
Upon which he commented, 'Every woman is ravishing at forty paces,
and still more so in imagination.'

'Beautiful auburn hair, and a dazzling red and white complexion, set in
a blue coif.'
'Her eyes?'
'Melting blue.'
''Tis an English witch!' exclaimed the beau, and he compassionately
invoked her absent lord.
Chloe's optics were no longer tasked to discern the fair lady's
lineaments, for the chariot windows came flush with those of the beau
on the broad plateau of the hill. His coach door was opened. He sat
upright, levelling his privileged stare at Duchess Susan until she
blushed.
'Ay, madam,' quoth he, 'I am not the first.'
'La, sir!' said she; 'who are you?'
The beau deliberately raised his hat and bowed. 'He, madam, of whose
approach the gentleman who took his leave of you on yonder elevation
informed you.'
She looked artlessly over her shoulder, and at the beau alighting from
his carriage. '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. I was never at the Wells before. Dear
me! the coach has turned. How far off shall we hear the bells to say I'm
coming? I know I'm to have bells. Mr. Beamish, Mr. Beamish! I must
have a chatter with a woman, and I'm in awe of you, sir, that I am, but
men and men I see to talk to for a lift of my finger, by the dozen, in my
duke's palace--though they're old ones, that's true--but a woman who's a
lady, and kind enough to be my maid, I haven't met yet since I had the
right to wear a coronet. There, I'll hold Chloe's hand, and that'll do. You
would tell me at once, Chloe, if I was not dressed to your taste; now,
wouldn't you? As for talkative, that's a sign with me of my liking
people. I really don't know what to say to my duke sometimes. I sit and
think it so funny to be having a duke instead of a husband. You're off!'
The duchess laughed at Chloe's laughter. Chloe excused herself, but
was informed by her mistress that it was what she liked.
'For the first two years,' she resumed, 'I could hardly speak a syllable. I
stammered, I reddened, I longed to be up in my room brushing and
curling my hair, and was ready to curtsey to everybody. Now I'm quite
at home, for I've plenty of