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"And yet, madam, Cleone seems to think I must, and so does Viscount

Devenham,--see what he writes" So the Duchess took the Viscount's

letter and, having deciphered it with soer upraised: "So you 've been betting, eh? And with Sir Mortimer Carnaby and

Mr Chichester of all people?"

"Yes, madam"

"Ah! You backed the Viscount, I suppose?"

"No,--I backed oodness--"

"But only to beat Sir Mortimer Carnaby--"

"The other favorite Oh, ridiculous! What odds did they give you?"

"None"

"You mean--oh, dear me!--you actually backed yourself--at even money?"

"Yes, Duchess"

"But you haven't a chance, Barnabas,--not a chance! You didn't bet

much, I hope?"

"Not so much as I intended, madam"

"Pray as the sum?"

"Twenty thousand pounds"

"Not--each?"

"Yes, ainst a favorite! Cleone, my dear,"

said the Duchess, with one of her quick, incisive nods, "Cleone,

this Barnabas of ours is either a madman or a fool! And yet--stoop

down, sir,--here where I can see you,--hum! And yet, Cleone,

there are times when I think he is perhaps a little wiser than he

see as simplicity, my dear! If you wished

to be talked about, Barnabas, you have succeeded ad over such a preposterous bet Forty thousand

pounds! Well, it will at least buy you notoriety, and that is next to

fame"