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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Is it possible?" said he, speaking in that softly modulated voice I remembered to have heard once before. "Can it be possible that I address my worthy cousin? That shirt! that utterly impossible coat and belcher! And yet the likeness is remarkable! Have I the honor to address Mr. Peter Vibart late of Oxford?" "The same, sir," I answered, rising.
The older man looked around vaguely: he seemed dazed. "Come away, sir, come away!" cried Vibart, gripping his arm. The buggy swept past them, and Mr. Carstyle stood in the dust gazing after it. At length he drew out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He was very pale and Vibart noticed that his hand shook. "That was a close call, sir, wasn't it? I suppose you thought they were running."
I am a blacksmith, hardworking, sober, and useful to my fellows; they call me Peter Smith. A certain time since I was a useless dreamer; spending more money in a week than I now earn in a year, and getting very little for it. I was studious, egotistical, and pedantic, wasting my time upon impossible translations that nobody wanted and they knew me as Peter Vibart."
"Beverley," he nodded, "Peregrine Beverley, very much at your service late of Beverley Place, Surrey, now of Nowhere-in-Particular." "Beverley," said I again, "I have heard that name before." "It is highly probable, Mr. Vibart; a fool of that name fortunate or unfortunate as you choose to classify him lost houses, land, and money in a single night's play.
Vibart," said he, staring very hard at the battered hat, and turning it round and round, "Mr. Vibart, the devil is surprisingly strong in some of us." "True," said I.
Where, I should like to know, are all those smiling nonentities those fawning sycophants who were once so proud of his patronage, who openly modelled themselves upon him, whose highest ambition was to be called a friend of the famous 'Buck' Vibart where are they now?"
Carstyle, flushed and feathered, with a card-case and dusty boots. "I don't ask you in," she said plaintively, to Vibart, "because I can't answer for the food this evening. My maid-of-all-work tells me that she's going to a ball which is more than I've done in years! And besides, it would be cruel to ask you to spend such a hot evening in our stuffy little house the air is so much cooler at Mrs.
"You!" he cried, and spat up in the air towards me; "devil!" he cried, "Devil Vibart." I recoiled instinctively before the man's sudden, wild ferocity, but, propping himself against the bank, he shook his hand at me, and laughed. "Devil!" he repeated; "shade! ghost of a devil! have you come back to see me die?" "Who are you?" I cried, bending to look into the pale, emaciated face; "who are you?"
But, even as I stooped above her, she repulsed me desperately; her loosened hair brushed my eyes and lips blinded, maddened me; my hat fell off, and all at once her struggles ceased. "Sir Maurice Vibart!" she panted, and I saw a hopeless terror in her face. But the Daemon's jovial voice chuckled in my ear: "Ho, Peter Vibart, act up to your cousin's reputation; who's to know the difference?"
"It would appear so," said I, shrugging my shoulders, "though, personally, I was unaware of this fact up till now." "Do I understand that you have never seen Sir Maurice Vibart, never seen 'Buck' Vibart?" "Never!" said I. "Too much occupied in keeping to the Narrow and Thorny, I suppose? Your cousin's is the Broad and Flowery, with a vengeance." "So I understand," said I.
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