Being placed beside one of these lovely girls and opposite the other, the Baron, one would think, would be in the highest state of contentment; but though still flushed with his triumphant caperings over the broadswords, and exhibiting a graciousness that charmed his hosts, he struck his observant friend as looking a trifle disturbed at soul. He would furtively glance across the table and then as furtively throw a sidelong look at his neighbor, and each time he appeared to grow more thoughtful. And yet he did not look precisely unhappy either. In fact, there was a gleam in his eye during each of these glances which suggested that both fell upon something he approved of.

The after-luncheon procedure had been carefully arranged between the two adventurers. The Count was to keep by the Baron's side, and, thus supported, negotiations were to be delicately opened. Accordingly, when the party rose, the Count whispered a word in Mr. Maddison's ear. The millionaire answered with a grave, shrewd look, and his daughter, as if perfectly grasping the situation, led the Galloshes out to inspect the new fir forest. And then the two noblemen and the two Dariuses faced one another over their cigars.



CHAPTER XXI

"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Maddison, "pleasure is pleasure, and business is business. I guess we mean to do a little of both to-day, if you are perfectly disposed. What do you say, Count?"

"I consider that an occasion selected by you, Mr. Maddison, is not to be neglected."

The millionaire bowed his acknowledgment of the compliment, and turned to the Baron, who, it may be remarked, was wearing an expression of thoughtful gravity not frequently to be noted at Hechnahoul.

"You desire to say a few words to me, Lord Tulliwuddle, I understand. I shall be pleased to hear them."

With this both father and son bent such earnest brows on the Baron and waited for his answer in such intense silence, that he began to regret the absence of his inspiring pipers.

"I vould like ze honor to address mine—mine——"

He threw an imploring glance at his friend, who, without hesitation, threw himself into the breach.

"Lord Tulliwuddle feels the natural diffidence of a lover in adequately expressing his sentiments. I understand that he craves your permission to lay a certain case before a certain lady. I am right, Tulliwuddle?"

"Pairfectly," said the Baron, much relieved; "to lay a certain case before a certain lady. Zat is so, yes, exactly."

Father and son glanced at one another.

"Your delicacy does you honor, very great honor," said Mr. Maddison; "but business is business, Lord Tulliwuddle, and I should like to hear your proposition more precisely stated. In fact, sir, I like to know just where I am."

"That's just about right," assented Ri.

"I vould perhaps vish to marry her."

"Perhaps!" exclaimed the two together.

Again the Count adroitly interposed—

"You mean that you do not intend to thrust your attentions upon an unwilling lady?"

"Yes, yes; zat is vat I mean."

"I see," said Mr. Maddison slowly. "H'm, yes."

"Sounds what you Scotch call 'canny,'" commented Ri shrewdly.

"Well," resumed the millionaire, "I have nothing to say against that; provided—provided, I say, that you stipulate to marry the lady so long as she has no objections to you. No fooling around—that's all we want to see to. Our time, sir, is too valuable."

"That is so," said Ri.

The Baron's color rose, and a look of displeasure came into his eyes, but before he had time to make a retort that might have wrecked his original's hopes, Bunker said quickly—

"Tulliwuddle places himself in your hands, with the implicit confidence that one gentleman reposes in another."

Gulping down his annoyance, the Baron assented—

"Yes, I vill do zat."

Again father and son looked at one another, and this time exchanged a nod.

"That, sir, will satisfy us," said Mr. Maddison. "Ri, you may turn off the phonograph."

And thereupon the cessation of a loud buzzing sound, which the visitors had hitherto attributed to flies, showed that their host now considered he had received a sufficient guarantee of his lordship's honorable intentions.

"So far, so good," resumed Mr. Maddison. "I may now inform you, Lord Tulliwuddle, that the reports about you which I have been able to gather read kind of mixed, and before consenting to your reception within my daughter's boudoir we should feel obliged if you would satisfy us that the worst of them are not true—or, at least, sir, exaggerated."

This time the Baron could not restrain an exclamation of displeasure.

"Vat, sir!" he cried, addressing the millionaire. "Do you examine me on my life!"

"No, sir," said Ri, frowning his most determined frown. "It is to ME you will be kind enough to give any explanation you have to offer! Dad may be the spokesman, but I am the inspirer of these interrogations. My sister, sir, the purest girl in America, the most beautiful creature beneath the star-spangled banner of Columbia, is not going to be the companion of dissolute idleness and gilded dishonor—not, sir, if I know it."

Too confounded by this unusual warning to think of any adequate retort, the Baron could only stare his sensations; while Mr. Maddison, taking up the conversation the instant his son had ceased, proceeded in a deliberate and impressive voice to say—

"Yes, sir, my son—and I associate myself with him—my son and I, sir, would be happy to learn that it is NOT the case as here stated" (he glanced at a paper in his hand), "namely, Item 1, that you sup rather too frequently with ladies—I beg your pardon, Count Bunker, for introducing the theme—with ladies of the theatrical profession."

"I!" gasped the Baron. "I do only vish I sometimes had ze cha——"

"Tulliwuddle!" interrupted the Count. "Don't let your natural indignation carry you away! Mr. Maddison, that statement is not true. I can vouch for it."

"Ach, of course it is not true," said the Baron more calmly, as he began to realize that it was not his own character that was being aspersed.

"I am very glad to hear it," continued Mr. Maddison, who apparently did not share the full austerity of his son's views, since without further question he hurried on to the next point.

"Item 2, sir, states that at least two West End firms are threatening you with proceedings if you do not discharge their accounts within a reasonable time."

"A lie!" declared the Baron emphatically.

"Will you be so kind as to favor us with the name of the individual who is thus libelling his lordship?" demanded the Count with a serious air.

Mr. Maddison hastily put the paper back in his pocket, and with a glance checked his son's gesture of protest.

"Guess we'd better pass on to the next thing, Ri. I told you it wasn't any darned use just asking. But you boys always think you know better than your Poppas," said he; and then, turning to the Count, "It isn't worth while troubling, Count; I'll see that these reports get contradicted, if I have to buy up a daily paper and issue it at a halfpenny. Yes, sir, you can leave it to me."

The Count glanced at his friend, and they exchanged a grave look.

"Again we place ourselves in your hands," said Bunker.

Though considerably impressed with these repeated evidences of confidence on the part of two such important personages, their host nevertheless maintained something of his inquisitorial air as he proceeded—

"For my own satisfaction, Lord Tulliwuddle, and meaning to convey no aspersion whatsoever upon your character, I would venture to inquire what are your views upon some of the current topics. Take any one you like, sir, so long as it's good and solid, and let me hear what you have to say about it. What you favor us with will not be repeated beyond this room, but merely regarded by my son and myself as proving that we are getting no dunder-headed dandy for our Eleanor, but an article of real substantial value—the kind of thing they might make into a Lord-lieutenant or a Viceroy in a bad year."

Tempting in every way as this suggestion sounded, his lordship nevertheless appeared to find a little initial difficulty in choosing a topic.

"Speak out, sir," said Mr. Maddison in an encouraging tone. "Our standard for noblemen isn't anything remarkably high. With a duke I'd be content with just a few dates and something about model cottages, and, though a baron ought to know a little more than that, still we'll count these feudal bagpipers and that ancestral hop-scotch performance as a kind of set-off to your credit. Suppose you just say a few words on the future of the Anglo-Saxon race. What you've learned from the papers will do, so long as you seem to understand it."

Perceiving that his Teutonic friend looked a trifle dismayed at this selection, Count Bunker suggested the Triple Alliance as an alternative.

"That needs more facts, I guess," said the millionaire; "but it will be all the more creditable if you can manage it."

The Baron cleared his throat to begin, and as he happened (as the Count was well aware) to have the greatest enthusiasm for this policy, and to have recently read the thirteen volumes of Professor Bungstrumpher on the subject, he delivered a peroration so remarkable alike for its fervor, its facts, and its phenomenal length, that when, upon a gentle hint from the Count, he at last paused, all traces of objection had vanished from the minds of Darius P. Maddison, senior and junior.

"I need no longer detain you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said the millionaire respectfully. "Ri, fetch your sister into her room. Your lordship, I have received an intellectual treat. I am very deeply gratified, sir. Allow me to conduct you to my daughter's boudoir."

Flushed with his exertions and his triumph though the Baron was, he yet remembered so vividly the ordeal preceding the oration that as they went he whispered in his friend's ear:

"Ah, Bonker, stay mit me, I pray you! If she should ask more questions!

"Mr. Maddison, ze Count will stay mit me."

Though a little surprised at this arrangement, which scarcely accorded with his lordship's virile appearance and dashing air, Mr. Maddison was by this time too favorably disposed to question the wisdom of any suggestion he might make, and accordingly the two friends found themselves closeted together in Miss Maddison's sanctum awaiting the appearance of the heiress.

"Shall I remain through the entire interview?" asked the Count.

"Oh yes, mine Bonker, you most! Or—vell, soppose it gets unnecessary zen vill I cry 'By ze Gad!' and you vill know to go."

"'By the Gad'? I see."

"Or—vell, not ze first time, but if I say it tree times, zen vill you make an excuse."

"Three times? I understand, Baron."



CHAPTER XXII

In the eye of the heiress, as in her father's, might be noted a shade of surprise at finding two gentlemen instead of one. But though the Count instantly perceived his superfluity, and though it had been his greatest ambition throughout his life to add no shade to the dullness with which he frequently complained that life was overburdened, yet his sense of obligation to his friend was so strong that he preferred to bore rather than desert. As the only compensation he could offer, he assumed the most retiring look of which his mobile features were capable, and pretended to examine one of the tables of curios.

"Lord Tulliwuddle, I congratulate you on the very happy impression you have made!" began Eleanor with the most delightful frankness.

But his lordship had learned to fear the Americans, even bearing compliments.

"So?" he answered stolidly.

"Indeed you have! Ri is just wild about your cleverness."

"Zat is kind of him."

"He declares you are quite an authority on European politics. Now you will be able to tell me——"

"Ach, no! I shall not to-day, please!" interrupted the Baron hurriedly.

The heiress seemed disconcerted.

"Oh, not if you'd rather not, Lord Tulliwuddle."

"Not to-day."

"Well!"

She turned with a shrug and cast her eyes upon the wall.

"How do you like this picture? It's my latest toy. I call it just sweet!"

He cautiously examined the painting.

"It is vary pretty."

"Do you know Romney's work?"

The Baron shrank back.

"Not again to-day, please!"

Miss Maddison opened her handsome eyes to their widest.

"My word!" she cried. "If these are Highland manners, Lord Tulliwuddle!"

In extreme confusion the Baron stammered—

"I beg your pardon! Forgif me—but—ach, not zose questions, please!"

Relenting a little, she inquired

"What may I ask you, then? Do tell me! You see I want just to know all about you."

With an affrighted gesture the Baron turned to his friend.

"Bonker," said he, "she does vant to know yet more about me! Vill you please to tell her."

The Count looked up from the curios with an expression so bland that the air began to clear even before he spoke.

"Miss Maddison, I must explain that my friend's proud Highland spirit has been a little disturbed by some inquiries, made in all good faith by your father. No offence, I am certain, was intended; erroneous information—a little hastiness in jumping to conclusions—a sensitive nature wounded by the least insinuation—such were the unfortunate causes of Tulliwuddle's excusable reticence. Believe me, if you knew all, your opinion of him would alter very, very considerably!"

The perfectly accurate peroration to this statement produced an immediate effect.

"What a shame!" cried Eleanor, her eyes sparkling brightly. "Lord Tulliwuddle, I am so sorry!"

The Baron looked into these eyes, and his own mien altered perceptibly. For an instant he gazed, and then in a low voice remarked—

"By ze Gad!"

"Once!" counted the conscientious Bunker.

"Lord Tulliwuddle," she continued, "I declare I feel so ashamed of those stupid men, I could just wring their necks! Now, just to make us quits, you ask me anything in the world you like!"

Over his shoulder the Baron threw a stealthy glance at his friend, but this time he did not invoke his assistance. Instead, he again murmured very distinctly—

"By ze Gad!"

"Twice!" counted Bunker.

"Miss Maddison," said the Baron to the flushed and eager girl, "am I to onderstand zat you now are satisfied zat I am not too vicked, too suspeecious, too unvorthy of your charming society? I do not say I am yet vorthy—bot jost not too bad!"

Had the Baroness at that moment heard merely the intonation of his voice, she would undoubtedly have preferred a Chinese prison.

"Indeed, Lord Tulliwuddle, you may."

"By ze Gad!" announced the Baron, in a voice braced with resolution.

"May I take the liberty of inspecting the aviary?" said the Count.

"With the very greatest pleasure," replied the heiress kindly.

His last distinct impression as he withdrew was of the Baron giving his mustache a more formidable twirl.

"A very pretty little scene," he reflected, as he strolled out in search of others. "Though, hang me, I'm not sure if it ended in the right man leaving the stage!"

This "second-fiddle feeling," as he styled it humorously to himself, was further increased by the demeanor of Miss Gallosh, to whom he now endeavored to make himself agreeable. Though sharing the universal respect felt for the character and talents of the Count, she was evidently too perturbed at seeing him appear alone to appreciate his society as it deserved. Ever since luncheon poor Eva's heart had been sinking. The beauty, the assurance, the cleverness, and the charm of the fabulously wealthy American heiress had filled her with vague misgivings even while the gentlemen were safely absent; but when Miss Maddison was summoned away, and her father and brother took her place, her uneasiness vastly increased. Now here was the last buffer removed between the chieftain and her audacious rival (so she already counted her). What drama could these mysterious movements have been leading to?

In vain did Count Bunker exercise his unique powers of conversation. In vain did he discourse on the beauties of nature as displayed in the wooded valley and the towering hills, and the beauties of art as exhibited in the aviary and the new fir forest. Eva's thoughts were too much engrossed with the beauties of woman, and their dreadful consequences if improperly used.

"Is—is Miss Maddison still in the house?" she inquired, with an effort to put the question carelessly.

"I believe so," said the Count in his kindest voice.

"And—and—that isn't Lord Tulliwuddle with my father, is it?"

"I believe not," said the Count, still more sympathetically.

She could no longer withhold a sigh, and the Count tactfully turned the conversation to the symbolical eagle arrived that morning from Mr. Maddison's native State.

They had passed from the aviary to the flower garden, when at last they saw the Baron and Eleanor appear. She joined the rest of the party, while he, walking thoughtfully in search of his friend, advanced in their direction. He raised his eyes, and then, to complete Eva's concern, he started in evident embarrassment at discovering her there also. To do him justice, he quickly recovered his usual politeness. Yet she noticed that he detained the Count beside him and showed a curious tendency to discourse solely on the fine quality of the gravel and the advantages of having a brick facing to a garden wall.

"My lord," said Mr. Gallosh, approaching them, "would you be thinking of going soon? I've noticed Mr. Maddison's been taking out his watch verra frequently."

"Certainly, certainly!" cried my lord. "Oh, ve have finished all ve have come for."

Eva started, and even Mr. Gallosh looked a trifle perturbed.

"Yes," added the Count quickly, "we have a very good idea of the heating system employed. I quite agree with you: we can leave the rest to your engineer."

But even his readiness failed to efface the effects of his friend's unfortunate admission.

Farewells were said, the procession reformed, the pipers struck up, and amidst the heartiest expressions of pleasure from all, the chieftain and his friends marched off to the spot where (out of sight of Lincoln Lodge) the forethought of their manager had arranged that the carriages should be waiting.

"Well," said Bunker, when they found themselves in their room again, "what do you think of Miss Maddison?"

The Baron lit a cigar, gazed thoughtfully and with evident satisfaction at the daily deepening shade of tan upon his knees, and then answered slowly—

"Vell, Bonker, she is not so bad."

"Ah," commented Bunker.

"Bot, Bonker, it is not vat I do think of her. Ach, no! It is not for mein own pleasure. Ach, nein! How shall I do my duty to Tollyvoddle? Zat is vat I ask myself."

"And what answer do you generally return?"

"Ze answer I make is," said the Baron gravely and with the deliberation the point deserved—"Ze answer is zat I shall vait and gonsider vich lady is ze best for him."

"The means you employ will no doubt include a further short personal interview with each of them?"

"Vun short! Ach, Bonker, I most investigate mit carefulness. No, no; I most see zem more zan zat."

"How long do you expect the process will take you?"

For the first time the Baron noticed with surprise a shade of impatience in his friend's voice.

"Are you in a horry, Bonker?"

"My dear Baron, I grudge no man his sport—particularly if he is careful to label it his duty. But, to tell the truth, I have never played gamekeeper for so long before, and I begin to find that picking up your victims and carrying them after you in a bag is less exhilarating to-day than it was a week ago. I wouldn't curtail your pleasure for the world, my dear fellow! But I do ask you to remember the poor keeper."

"My dear friend," said the Baron cordially, "I shall remember! It shall take bot two or tree days to do my duty. I shall not be long."

"A day or two of sober duty, Then, Hoch! for London, home, and beauty!"

trolled the Count pleasantly.

The Baron did not echo the "Hoch"; but after retaining his thoughtful expression for a few moments, a smile stole over his face, and he remarked in an absent voice—

"Vun does not alvays need to go home to find beauty."

"Yes," said the Count, "I have always held it to be one of the advantages of travel that one learns to tolerate the inhabitants of other lands."



CHAPTER XXIII

"Ach, you are onfair," exclaimed the Baron. "Really?" said Eva, with a sarcastic intonation he had not believed possible in so sweet a voice.

It was the day following the luncheon at Lincoln Lodge, and they were once more seated in the shady arbor: this time the Count had guaranteed not only to leave them uninterrupted by his own presence, but to protect the garden from all other intruders. Everything, in fact, had presaged the pleasantest of tete-a-tetes. But, alas! the Baron was learning that if Amaryllis pouts, the shadiest corner may prove too warm. Why, he was asking himself, should she exhibit this incomprehensible annoyance? What had he done? How to awake her smiles again?

"I do not forget my old friends so quickly," he protested. "No, I do assure you! I do not onderstand vy you should say so."

"Oh, we don't profess to be old FRIENDS, Lord Tulliwuddle! After all, there is no reason why you shouldn't turn your back on us as soon as you see a newer—and more amusing—ACQUAINTANCE."

"But I have not turned my back!"

"We saw nothing else all yesterday."

"Ah, Mees Gallosh, zat is not true! Often did I look at you!"

"Did you? I had forgotten. One doesn't treasure every glance, you know."

The Baron tugged at his mustache and frowned.

"She vill not do for Tollyvoddle," he said to himself.

But the next instant a glance from Eva's brilliant eyes—a glance so reproachful, so appealing, and so stimulating, that there was no resisting it—diverted his reflections into quite another channel.

"Vat can I do to prove zat I am so friendly as ever?" he exclaimed.

"So FRIENDLY?" she repeated, with an innocently meditative air.

"So vary parteecularly friendly!"

Her air relented a little—just enough, in fact, to make him ardently desire to see it relent still further.

"You promise things to me, and then do them for other people's benefit."

The Baron eagerly demanded a fuller statement of this abominable charge.

"Well," she said, "you told me twenty times you would show me something really Highland—that you'd kill a deer by torchlight, or hold a gathering of the clans upon the castle lawn. All sorts of things you offered to do for me, and the only thing you have done has been for the sake of your NEW friends! You gave THEM a procession and a dance."

"But you did see it too!" he interrupted eagerly.

"As part of your procession," she retorted scornfully. "We felt much obliged to you—especially as you were so attentive to us afterwards!"

"I did not mean to leave you," exclaimed the Baron weakly. "It was jost zat Miss Maddison——"

"I am not interested in Miss Maddison. No doubt she is very charming; but, really, she doesn't interest me at all. You were unavoidably prevented from talking to us—that is quite sufficient for me. I excuse you, Lord Tulliwuddle. Only, please, don't make me any more promises."

"Eva! Ach, I most say 'Eva' jost vunce more! I am going to leave my castle, to leave you, and say good-by."

She started and looked quickly at him.

"Bot before I go I shall keep my promise! Ve shall have ze pipers, and ze kilts, and ze dancing, and toss ze caber, and fling ze hammer, and it shall be on ze castle lawn, and all for your sake! Vill you not forgive me and be friends?"

"Will it really be all for my sake?"

She spoke incredulously, yet looked as if she were willing to be convinced.

"I swear it vill!"

The latter part of this interview was so much more agreeable than the beginning that when the distant rumble of the luncheon gong brought it to an end at last they sighed, and for fully half a minute lingered still in silence. If one may dare to express in crude language a maiden's unspoken, formless thought, Eva's might be read—"There is yet a moment left for him to say the three short words that seem to hang upon his tongue!" While on his part he was reflecting that he had another duologue arranged for that very afternoon, and that, for the simultaneous suitor of two ladies, an open mind was almost indispensable.

"Then you are going for a drive with the Count Bunker this afternoon?" she asked, as they strolled slowly towards the house.

"For a leetle tour in my estate," he answered easily.

"On business, I suppose?"

"Yes, vorse luck!"

He knew not whether to feel more relieved or embarrassed to find that he evidently rose in her estimation as a conscientious landlord.

. . . . . .

"You are having a capital day's sport, Baron," said the Count gaily, as they drew near Lincoln Lodge.

During their drive the Baron had remained unusually silent. He now roused himself and said in a guarded whisper—

"Bonker, vill you please to give ze coachman some money not to say jost vere he did drive us."

"I have done so," smiled the Count.

His friend gratefully grasped his hand and curled his mustache with an emboldened air.

A similar display of address on the part of Count Bunker resulted in the Baron's finding himself some ten minutes later alone with Miss Maddison in her sanctuary. But, to his great surprise, he was greeted with none of the encouraging cordiality that had so charmed him yesterday. The lady was brief in her responses, critical in her tone, and evidently disposed to quarrel with her admirer on some ground at present entirely mysterious. Indeed, so discouraging was she that at length he exclaimed—

"Tell me, Miss Maddison—I should not have gom to-day? You did not vish to see me. Eh?"

"I certainly was perfectly comfortable without you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said the heiress tartly.

"Shall I go avay?"

"You have come here entirely for your own pleasure; and the moment you begin to feel tired there is nothing to hinder you going home again."

"You vere more kind to me yesterday," said the Baron sadly.

"I did not learn till after you had gone how much I was to blame for keeping you so long away from your friends. Please do not think I shall repeat the offence."

There was an accent on the word "friends" that enlightened the bewildered nobleman, even though quickness in taking a hint was not his most conspicuous attribute. That the voice of gossip had reached the fair American was only too evident; but though considerably annoyed, he could not help feeling at the same time flattered to see the concern he was able to inspire.

"My friends!" said he with amorous artfulness.

"Do you mean Count Bunker? He is ze only FRIEND I have here mit me."

"The ONLY friend? Indeed!"

"Zat is since I see you vill not treat me as soch."

Upon these lines a pretty little passage-of-arms ensued, the Baron employing with considerable effect the various blandishments of which he was admitted a past master; the heiress modifying her resentment by degrees under their insidious influence. Still she would not entirely quit her troublesome position, till at last a happy inspiration came to reinforce his assaults. Why, he reflected, should an entertainment that would require a considerable outlay of money and trouble serve to win the affections of only one girl? With the same expenditure of ammunition it might be possible to double the bag.

"Miss Maddison," he said with a regretful air, "I did come here to-day in ze hope——But ach!"

So happily had he succeeded in whetting her curiosity that she begged—nay, insisted—that he should finish his sentence.

"If you had been kind I did hope zat you vould allow me to give in your honor an entertainment at my castle."

"An entertainment!" she cried, with a marked increase of interest.

"Jost a leetle EXPOSITION of ze Highland sport, mit bagpipes and caber and so forth; unvorthy of your notice perhaps, bot ze best I can do."

Eleanor clapped her hands enthusiastically.

"I should just love it!"

The triumphant diplomatist smiled complacently.

"Bonker vill arrange it all nicely," he said to himself.

And there rose in his fancy such a pleasing and gorgeous picture of himself in the panoply of the North, hurling a hammer skywards amidst the plaudits of his clan and the ravished murmurs of the ladies, that he could not but congratulate himself upon this last master-stroke of policy. For if instead of ladies there were only one lady, exactly half the pleasure would be lacking. So generous were this nobleman's instincts!

During their drive to Lincoln Lodge the Baron had hesitated to broach his new project to his friend for the very reason that, after the glow of his first enthusiastic proposal to Eva was over, it seemed to him a vast undertaking for a limited object; but driving home he lost no time in confiding his scheme to the Count.

"The deuce!" cried Bunker. "That will mean three more days here at least!"

"Vat is tree days, mine Bonker?"

"My dear Baron, I am the last man in the world to drop an unpleasant hint; yet I can't help thinking we have been so unconscionably lucky up till now that it would be wise to retire before an accident befalls us."

"Vat kind of accident?"

"The kind that may happen to the best regulated adventurer."

The Baron pondered. When Bunker suggested caution it indeed seemed time to beat a retreat; yet—those two charming ladies, and that alluring tartan tableau!

"Ach, let ze devil take ze man zat is afraid!" he exclaimed at last. "Bonker, it vill be soch fun!"

"Watching you complete two conquests?"

"Be not impatient, good Bonker!"

"My dear fellow, if you could find me one girl—even one would content me—who would condescend to turn her eyes from the dazzling spectacle of Baron Tulliwuddle, and cast them for so much as half an hour a day upon his obscure companion, I might see some fun in it too."

The Baron, with an air of patronizing kindness that made his fellow-adventurer's lot none the easier to bear, answered reassuringly—

"Bot I shall leave all ze preparations to be made by you; you vill not have time zen to feel lonely."

"Thank you, Baron; you have the knack of conferring the most princely favors."

"Ach, I am used to do so," said the Baron simply, and then burst out eagerly, "Some feat you must design for me at ze sports so zat I can show zem my strength, eh?"

"With the caber, for instance?"

The Baron had seen the caber tossed, and he shook his head.

"He is too big."

"I might fit a strong spring in one end."

But the Baron still seemed disinclined. His friend reflected, and then suddenly exclaimed—

"The village doctor keeps some chemical apparatus, I believe! You'll throw the hammer, Baron. I can manage it."

The Baron appeared mystified by the juxtaposition of ideas, but serenely expressed himself as ready to entrust this and all other arrangements for the Hechnahoul Gathering to the ingenious Count, as some small compensation for so conspicuously outshining him.



CHAPTER XXIV

The day of the Gathering broke gray and still, and the Baron, who was no weather prophet, declared gloomily—

"It vill rain. Donnerwetter!"

A couple of hours later the sun was out, and the distant hills shimmering in the heat haze.

"Himmel! Ve are alvays lucky, Bonker!" he cried, and with gleeful energy brandished his dumb-bells in final preparation for his muscular exploits.

"We certainly have escaped hanging so far," said the Count, as he drew on the trews which became his well-turned leg so happily.

His arrangements were admirable and complete, and by twelve o'clock the castle lawn looked as barbarically gay as the colored supplement to an illustrated paper. Pipes were skirling, skirts fluttering, flags flapping; and as invitations had been issued to various magnates in the district, whether acquainted with the present peer or not, there were to be seen quite a number of dignified personages in divers shades of tartan, and parasols of all the hues in the rainbow. The Baron was in his element. He judged the bagpipe competition himself, and held one end of the tape that measured the jumps, besides delighting the whole assembled company by his affability and good spirits.

"Your performance comes next, I see," said Eleanor Maddison, throwing him her brightest smile. "I can't tell you how I am looking forward to seeing you do it!"

The Baron started and looked at the programme in her hand. He had been too excited to study it carefully before, and now for the first time he saw the announcement (in large type)—

"7. Lord Tulliwuddle throws the 85-lb. hammer."

The sixth event was nearly through, and there—there evidently was the hammer in question being carried into the ring by no fewer than three stalwart Highlanders! The Baron had learned enough of the pastimes of his adopted country to be aware that this gigantic weapon was something like four times as heavy as any hammer hitherto thrown by the hardiest Caledonian.

"Teufel! Bonker vill make a fool of me," he muttered, and hastily bursting from the circle of spectators, hurried towards the Count, who appeared to be busied in keeping the curious away from the Chieftain's hammer.

"Bonker, vat means zis?" he demanded.

"Your hammer," smiled the Count.

"A hammer zat takes tree men——"

"Hush!" whispered the Count. "They are only holding it down!"

The Baron laid his hand upon the round enormous head, and started.

"It is not iron!" he gasped. "It is of rubber."

"Filled with hydrogen," breathed the Count in his ear. "Just swing it once and let go—and, I say, mind it doesn't carry you away with it."

The chief bared his arms and seized the handle; his three clansmen let go; and then, with what seemed to the breathless spectators to be a merely trifling effort of strength, he dismissed the projectile upon the most astounding journey ever seen even in that land of brawny hammer-hurlers. Up, up, up it soared, over the trees; high above the topmost turret of the castle, and still on and on and ever upwards till it became a mere speck in the zenith, and at last faded utterly from sight.

Then, and not till then, did the pent-up applause break out into such a roar of cheering as Hechnahoul had never heard before in all its long history.

"Eighty-five pounds of pig-iron gone straight to heaven!" gasped the Silver King. "Guess that beats all records!"

"America must wake up!" frowned Ri.

Meanwhile the Baron, after bowing in turn towards all points of the compass, turned confidentially to his friend.

"Vill not ze men that carried it——?"

"I've told 'em you'd give 'em a couple of sovereigns apiece."

The Baron came from an economical nation.

"Two to each!"

"My dear fellow, wasn't it worth it?"

The Baron grasped his hand.

"Ja, mine Bonker, it vas! I vill pay zem."

Radiant and smiling, he returned to receive the congratulations of his guests, dreaming that his triumph was complete, and that nothing more arduous remained than pleasant dalliance alternately with his Eleanor and his Eva. But he speedily discovered that hurling an inflated hammer heavenwards was child's play as compared with the simultaneous negotiation of a double wooing. The first person to address him was the millionaire, and he could not but feel a shiver of apprehension to note that he was evidently in the midst of a conversation with Mr. Gallosh.

"I must congratulate you, Lord Tulliwuddle," said Mr. Maddison, "and I must further congratulate my daughter upon the almost miraculous feat you have performed for her benefit. You know, I dare say"—here he turned to Mr. Gallosh—"that this very delightful entertainment was given primarily in my Eleanor's honor?"

"Whut!" exclaimed the merchant. "That's—eh—that's scarcely the fac's as we've learned them. But his lordship will be able to tell you best himself."

His lordship smiled affably upon both, murmured something incoherent, and passed on hastily towards the scarlet parasol of Eleanor. But he had no sooner reached it than he paused and would have turned had she not seen him, for under a blue parasol beside her he espied, too late, the fair face of Eva, and too clearly perceived that the happy maidens had been comparing notes, with the result that neither looked very happy now.

"I hope you do enjoy ze sports," he began, endeavoring to distribute this wish as equally as possible.

"Miss Gallosh has been remarkably fortunate in her weather," said Eleanor, and therewith gave him an uninterrupted view of her sunshade.

"Miss Maddison has seen you to great advantage, Lord Tulliwuddle," said Eva, affording him the next instant a similar prospect of silk.

The unfortunate chief recoiled from this ungrateful reception of his kindness. Only one refuge, one mediator, he instinctively looked for; but where could the Count have gone?

"Himmel! Has he deserted me?" he muttered, frantically elbowing his way in search of him.

But this once it happened that the Count was engaged upon business of his own. Strolling outside the ring of spectators, with a view to enjoying a cigar and a little relaxation from the anxieties of stage-management, his attention had been arrested in a singular and flattering way. At that place where he happened to be passing stood an open carriage containing a girl and an older lady, evidently guests from the neighborhood personally unknown to his lordship, and just as he went by he heard pronounced in a thrilling whisper—"THAT must be Count Bunker!"

The Count was too well-bred to turn at once, but it is hardly necessary to say that a few moments later he casually repassed the carriage; nor will it astonish any who have been kind enough to follow his previous career with some degree of attention to learn that when opposite the ladies he paused, looked from them to the enclosure and back again, and presently raising his feathered bonnet, said in the most ingratiating tones—

"Pardon me, but I am requested by Lord Tulliwuddle to show any attention I can to the comfort of his guests. Can you see well from where you are?"

The younger lady with an eager air assured him that they saw perfectly, and even in the course of the three or four sentences she spoke he was able to come to several conclusions regarding her: that her companion was in a subsidiary and doubtless salaried position; that she herself was decidedly attractive to look upon; that her voice had spoken the whispered words; and that her present animated air might safely be attributed rather to the fact that she addressed Count Bunker than to the subject-matter of her reply.

No one possessed in a higher degree than the Count the nice art of erecting a whole conversation upon the foundation of the lightest phrase. He contrived a reply to the lady's answer, was able to put the most natural question next, to follow that with a happy stroke of wit, and within three minutes to make it seem the most obvious thing in the world that he should be saying

"I am sure that Lord Tulliwuddle will never forgive me if I fail to learn the names of any visitors who have honored him to-day."

"Mine," said the girl, her color rising slightly, but her glance as kind as ever, "is Julia Wallingford. This is my friend Miss Minchell."

The Count bowed.

"And may I introduce myself as a friend of Tulliwuddle's, answering to the name of Count Bunker."

Again Miss Wallingford's color rose. In a low and ardent voice she began

"I am so glad to meet you! Your name is already——"

But at that instant, when the Count was bending forward to catch the words and the lady bending down to utter them, a hand grasped him by the sleeve, and the Baron's voice exclaimed,

"Come, Bonker, quickly here to help me!"

He would fain have presented his lordship to the ladies, but the Baron was too hurried to pause, and with a parting bow he was reluctantly borne off to assist his friend out of his latest dilemma.

"Pooh, my dear Baron!" he cried, when the situation was explained to him; "you couldn't have done more damage to their hearts if you had hurled your hammer at them! A touch of jealousy was all that was needed to complete your conquests. But for me you have spoiled the most promising affair imaginable. There goes their carriage trotting down the drive! And I shall probably never know whether my name was already in her heart or in her prayers. Those are the two chief receptacles for gentlemen's names, I believe—aren't they, Baron?"

On his advice the rival families were left to the soothing influences of a good dinner and a night's sleep, and he found himself free to ponder over his interrupted adventure.

"Undoubtedly one feels all the better for a little appreciation," he reflected complacently. "I wonder if it was my trews that bowled her over?"



CHAPTER XXV

The Count next morning consumed a solitary breakfast, his noble friend having risen some hours previously and gone for an early walk upon the hill. But he was far from feeling any trace of boredom, since an open letter beside his plate appeared to provide him with an ample fund of pleasant and entertaining reflections.

"I have not withered yet," he said to himself. "Here is proof positive that some blossom, some aroma remains!"

The precise terms of this encouraging epistle were these:

"THE LASH, near NETHERBRIG.

"Tuesday night.

"DEAR COUNT BUNKER,—Forgive what must seem to you INCREDIBLE boldness (!), and do not think worse of me than I deserve. It seems such a pity that you should be so near and yet that I should lose this chance of gratifying my great desire. If you knew how I prized the name of Bunker you would understand; but no doubt I am only one among many, and you do understand better than I can explain.

"My father is away from home, and the WORLD dictates prudence; but I know your views on conventionality are those I too have learned to share, so will you come and see me before you leave Scotland?

"With kindest regards and in great haste because I want you to get this to-morrow morning. Believe me, yours very sincerely,

"JULIA WALLINGFORD."

"P.S.—If it would upset your arrangements to come only for the day, Miss Minchell agrees with me that we could easily put you up.—J. W."

"By Jingo!" mused the Count, "that's what I call a sporting offer. Her father away from home, and Count Bunker understanding better than she can explain! Gad, it's my duty to go!"

But besides the engaging cordiality of Miss Wallingford's invitation, there was something about the letter that puzzled almost as much as it cheered him.

"She prizes the name of Bunker, does she? Never struck me it was very ornamental; and in any case the compliment seems a trifle stretched. But, hang it! this is looking a gift-horse in the mouth. Such ardor deserves to be embraced, not dissected."

He swiftly debated how best to gratify the lady. Last night it had been his own counsel, and likewise the Baron's desire, to leave by the night mail that very evening, with their laurels still unfaded and blessings heaped upon their heads. Why not make his next stage The Lash?

"Hang it, the Baron has had such a good innings that he can scarcely grudge me a short knock," he said to himself. "He can wait for me at Perth or somewhere."

And, ringing the bell, he wrote and promptly despatched this brief telegram:

"Delighted. Shall spend to-night in passing. Bunker."

Hardly was this point settled when the footman re-entered to inform him that Mr. Maddison's motor car was at the door waiting to convey him without delay to Lincoln Lodge. Accompanying this announcement came the Silver King's card bearing the words, "Please come and see me at once."

The Count stroked his chin, and lit a cigarette.

"There is something fresh in the wind," thought he.

In the course of his forty-miles-an-hour rush through the odors of pine woods, he had time to come to a pretty correct conclusion regarding the business before him, and was thus enabled to adopt the mien most suitable to the contingency when he found himself ushered into the presence of the millionaire and his son. The set look upon their faces, the ceremonious manner of their greeting, and the low buzzing of the phonograph, audible above the tinkle of a musical box ingeniously intended to drown it, confirmed his guess even before a word had passed.

"Be seated, Count," said the Silver King; and the Count sat.

"Now, sir," he continued, "I have sent for you, owing, sir, to the high opinion I have formed of your intelligence and business capabilities."

The Count bowed profoundly.

"Yes, sir, I believe, and my son believes, you to be a white man, even though you are a Count."

"That is so," said Ri.

"Now, sir, you must be aware—in fact, you ARE aware—of the matrimonial project once entertained between my daughter and Lord Tulliwuddle."

"Once!" exclaimed the Count in protest.

"ONCE!" echoed Ri in his deepest voice.

"Hish, Ri! Let your poppa do the talking this time," said the millionaire sternly, though with an indulgent eye.

"But—er—ONCE?" repeated the Count, as if bewildered by the past tense implied; though to himself he murmured—"I knew it!"

"When I gave my sanction to Lord Tulliwuddle's proposition, I did so under the impression that I was doing a deal with a man, sir, of integrity and honor. But what do I find?"

"Yes, what?" thundered Ri.

"I find, sir, that his darned my-lordship—and be damned to his titles——"

"Mr. Maddison!" expostulated the Count gently.

"I find, Count, I find that Lord Tulliwuddle, under pretext of paying my Eleanor a compliment, has provided an entertainment—a musical and athletic entertainment—for another woman!"

The Count sprang to his feet.

"Impossible!" he cried.

"It is true!"

"Name her!"

"She answers, sir, to the plebeian cognomen of Gallosh."

"A nobody!" sneered Ri.

"In trade!" added his father scornfully.

Had the occasion been more propitious, the Count could scarcely have refrained from commenting upon this remarkably republican criticism; but, as it was, he deemed it more advisable to hunt with the hounds.

"That canaille!" he shouted. "Ha, ha! Lord Tulliwuddle would never so far demean himself!"

"I have it from old Gallosh himself," declared Mr. Maddison.

"And that girl Gallosh told Eleanor the same," added Ri.

"Pooh!" cried the Count. "A mere invention."

"You are certain, sir, that Lord Tulliwuddle gave them no grounds whatever for supposing such a thing?"

"I pledge my reputation as Count of the Austrian Empire, that if my friend be indeed a Tulliwuddle he is faithful to your charming daughter!"

Father and son looked at him shrewdly.

"Being a Tulliwuddle, or any other sort of pampered aristocrat, doesn't altogether guarantee faithfulness," observed the Silver King.

"If he has deceived you, he shall answer to ME!" declared the Count. "And between ourselves, as nature's gentleman to nature's gentleman, you may assure Miss Maddison that there is not the remotest likelihood of this scheming Miss Gallosh ever becoming my friend's bride!"

The two Dariuses were sensibly affected by this assurance.

"As nature's gentleman to nature's gentleman!" repeated the elder with unction, wringing his hand.

His son displayed an equal enthusiasm, and the Count departed with an enhanced reputation and the lingering fragrance of a cocktail upon his tongue.

"Now I think we are in comparatively smooth water," he said to himself as he whizzed back to the castle.

At the door he was received by the butler.

"Mr. Gallosh is waiting for you in the library, my lord," said he, adding confidentially (since the Count had endeared himself to all), "He's terrible impatient for to see your lordship."



CHAPTER XXVI

Evidently Mr. Gallosh, while waiting for the Count's return, had so worked up his wrath that it was ready to explode on a hair-trigger touch; and, as evidently, his guest's extreme urbanity made it exceedingly difficult to carry out his threatening intentions.

"I want a word with you, Count. I've been wanting a word with you all morning," he began.

"Believe me, Mr. Gallosh, I appreciate the compliment."

"Where were you? I mean it was verra annoying not to find you when I wanted you."

The merchant was so evidently divided between anxiety to blurt out his mind while it was yet hot from the making up, and desire not to affront a guest and a man of rank, that the Count could scarcely restrain a smile.

"It is equally annoying to myself. I should have enjoyed a conversation with you at any hour since breakfast."

"Umph," replied his host.

"What can I do for you now?"

Mr. Gallosh looked at him steadfastly.

"Count Bunker," said he, "I am only a plain man——"

"The ladies, I assure you, are not of that opinion," interposed the Count politely.

Mr. Gallosh seemed to him to receive this compliment with more suspicion than pleasure.

"I'm saying," he repeated, "that I'm only a plain man of business, and you and your friend are what you'd call swells."

"God forbid that I should!" the Count interjected fervently. "'Toffs,' possibly—but no matter, please continue."

"Well, now, so long as his lordship likes to treat me and my family as kind of belonging to a different sphere, I'm well enough content. I make no pretensions, Count, to be better than what I am."

"I also, Mr. Gallosh, endeavor to affect a similar modesty. It's rather becoming, I think, to a fine-looking man."

"It's becoming to any kind of man that he should know his place. But I was saying, I'd have been content if his lordship had been distant and polite and that kind of thing. But was he? You know yourself, Count, how he's behaved!"

"Perfectly politely, I trust."

"But he's not been what you'd call distant, Count Bunker. In fac', the long and the short of it is just this—what's his intentions towards my Eva?"

"Is it Mrs. Gallosh who desires this information?"

"It is. And myself too; oh, I'm not behindhand where the reputation of my daughters is concerned!"

"Mrs. G. has screwed him up to this," said the Count to himself. Aloud, he asked with his blandest air—

"Was not Lord Tulliwuddle available himself?"

"No; he's gone out."

"Alone?"

"No, not alone."

"In brief, with Miss Gallosh?"

"Quite so; and what'll he be saying to her?"

"He is a man of such varied information that it's hard to guess."

"From all I hear, there's not been much variety so far," said Mr. Gallosh drily.

"Dear me!" observed the Count.

His host looked at him for a few moments.

"Well?" he demanded at length.

"Pardon me if I am stupid, but what comment do you expect me to make?"

"Well, you see, we all know quite well you're more in his lordship's confidence than any one else in the house, and I'd take it as a favor if you'd just give me your honest opinion. Is he just playing himself—or what?"

The worthy Mr. Gallosh was so evidently sincere, and looked at him with such an appealing eye, that the Count found the framing of a suitable reply the hardest task that had yet been set him.

"Mr. Gallosh, if I were in Tulliwuddle's shoes I can only say that I should consider myself a highly fortunate individual; and I do sincerely believe that that is his own conviction also."

"You think so?"

"I do indeed."

Though sensibly relieved, Mr. Gallosh still felt vaguely conscious that if he attempted to repeat this statement for the satisfaction of his wife, he would find it hard to make it sound altogether as reassuring as when accompanied by the Count's sympathetic voice. He ruminated for a minute, and then suddenly recalled what the Count's evasive answers and sympathetic assurances had driven from his mind. Yet it was, in fact, the chief occasion of concern.

"Do you know, Count Bunker, what his lordship has gone and done?"

"Should one inquire too specifically?" smiled the Count; but Mr. Gallosh remained unmoved.

"You can bear me witness that he told us he was giving this gathering in my Eva's honor?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Well, he went and told Miss Maddison it was for her sake?"

"Incredible!"

"It's a fact!"

"I refuse to believe my friend guilty of such perfidy! Who told you this?"

"The Maddisons themselves."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the Count, as heartily as he had laughed at Lincoln Lodge; "don't you know these Americans sometimes draw the long bow?"

"You mean to say you don't believe they told the truth?"

"My dear Mr. Gallosh, I would answer you in the oft-quoted words of Horace—'Arma virumque cano.' The philosophy of a solar system is some times compressed within an eggshell. Say nothing and see!"

He shook his host heartily by the hand as he spoke, and Mr. Gallosh, to his subsequent perplexity, found the interview apparently at a satisfactory conclusion.

"And now," said the Count to himself, "'Bolt!' is the word."

As he set about his packing in the half-hour that yet remained before luncheon, he was surprised to note that his friend had evidently left no orders yet concerning any preparations for his departure.

"Confound him! I thought he had made up his mind last night! Ah, there he comes—and singing, too, by Jingo! If he wants another day's dalliance——"

At this point his reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the jovial Baron himself. He stopped and stared at his friend.

"Vat for do you pack up?"

"Because we leave this afternoon."

"Ach, Bonker, absurd! To-morrow—yes, to-morrow ve vill leave."

Bunker folded his arms and looked at him seriously.

"I have had two interviews this morning—one with Mr. Maddison, the other with Mr. Gallosh. They were neither of them pleased with you, Baron."

"Not pleased? Vat did zey say?"

Depicting the ire of these gentlemen in the most vivid terms, the Count gave him a summary of his morning's labors.

"Pooh, pooh! Tuts, tuts!" exclaimed the Baron. "I vill make zat all right; never do you fear. Eva, she does smile on me already. Eleanor, she vill also ven I see her. Leave it to me."

"You won't go to-day?"

"To-morrow, Bonker, I swear I vill for certain!"

Bonker pondered.

"Hang it!" he exclaimed. "The worst of it is, I've pledged myself to go upon a visit."

The Baron listened to the tale of his incipient romance with the greatest relish.

"Bot go, my friend! Bot go!" he cried, "and zen come back here to-morrow and ve vill leave togezzer."

"Leave you alone, with the barometer falling and the storm-cone hoisted? I don't like to, Baron."

"Bot to leave zat leetle girl—eh, Bonker? How is zat?"

"Was ever a man so torn between two duties!" exclaimed the conscientious Count.

"Ladies come first!" quoth the Baron.

Bunker was obviously strongly tending to this opinion also.

"Can I trust you to guide your own destinies without me?"

The Baron drew himself up with a touch of indignation.

"Am I a child or a fool? I have guided mine destiny vary vell so far, and I zink I can still so do. Ven vill you go to see Miss Wallingford?"

"I'll hire a trap from the village after lunch and be off about four," said the Count. "Long live the ladies! Learn wisdom by my example! Will this tie conquer her, do you think?"

In this befitting spirit he drove off that afternoon, and the Baron, after waving his adieus from the door, strode brimful of confidence towards the drawing-room. His thoughts must have gone astray, for he turned by accident into the wrong room—a small apartment hardly used at all; and before he had time to turn back he stopped petrified at the sight of a picture on the wall. There could be no mistake—it was the original of that ill-omened print he had seen in the Edinburgh hotel, "The Execution of Lord Tulliwuddle." The actual title was there plain to see.

"Zen it vas not a hoax!" he gasped.

His first impulse was to look for a bicycle and tear after the dog-cart.

"But can I ride him in a kilt?" he reflected.

By the time he had fully debated this knotty point his friend was miles upon his way, and the Baron was left ruefully to lament his rashness in parting with such an ally.



CHAPTER XXVII

During the horrid period of suspense that followed her visit to Sir Justin, the Baroness von Blitzenberg naturally enough felt disinclined to go much into society, and in fact rarely went out at all during the Baron's absence, except to the houses of one or two of her mother's particular friends. Even then she felt much more inclined to stay at home.

"Need we go to Mrs. Jerwin-Speedy's to-night?" she said one afternoon.

"Certainly," replied the Countess decisively.

Alicia sighed submissively; but this attitude was abruptly changed into one of readiness, nay, even of alacrity, when her mother remarked—

"By the way, she is an aunt of the present Tulliwuddle. I believe it was you who were asking about him the other day."

"Was I?" said the Baroness carelessly; but she offered no further objections to attending Mrs. Jerwin-Speedy's reception.

She found there a large number of people compressed into a couple of small rooms, and she soon felt so lost in the crush of strangers, and the chances of obtaining any information about Lord Tulliwuddle or his Eva seemed so remote, that she soon began to wish herself comfortably at home again, even though it were only to fret. But fortune, which had so long been unkind to her and indulgent to her erring spouse, chose that night as the turning-point in her tide of favors. Little dreaming how much hung on a mere introduction, Mrs. Jerwin-Speedy led up to the Baroness an apparently nervous and diffident young man.

"Let me introduce my nephew, Lord Tulliwuddle—the Baroness von Blitzenberg," said she; and having innocently hurled this bomb, retired from further participation in the drama.

With young and diffident men Alicia had a pleasant instinct for conducting herself as smilingly as though they were the greatest wits about the town. The envious of her sex declared that it was because she scarcely recognized the difference; but be that as it may, it served her on this occasion in the most admirable stead. She detached the agitated peer from the thickest of the throng, propped him beside her against the wall, and by her kindness at length unloosed his tongue. Then it was she began to suspect that his nervous manner must surely be due to some peculiar circumstance rather than mere constitutional shyness. Made observant by her keen curiosity, she noticed at first a worried, almost hunted, look in his eyes and an extreme impatience of scrutiny by his fellow-guests; but as he gained confidence in her kindness and discretion these passed away, and he appeared simply a garrulous young man, with a tolerably good opinion of himself.

"Poor fellow! He is in trouble of some kind. Something to do with Eva, of course!" she said to her sympathetically.

The genuine Tulliwuddle had indeed some cause for perturbation. After keeping himself out of the way of all his friends and most of his acquaintances ever since the departure of his substitute, hearing nothing of what was happening at Hechnahoul, and living in daily dread of the ignominious exposure of their plot, he had stumbled by accident against his aunt, explained his prolonged absence from her house with the utmost difficulty, and found himself forced to appease her wounded feelings by appearing where he least wished to be seen—in a crowded London reception-room. No wonder the unfortunate young man seemed nervous and ill at ease.

As for Alicia, she was consumed with anxiety to know why he was here and not in Scotland, as Sir Justin had supposed; and, indeed, to learn a number of things. And now they were rapidly getting on sufficiently familiar terms for her to put a tactful question or two. Encouraged by her sympathy, he began to touch upon his own anxieties.

"A young man ought to get married, I suppose," he remarked confidentially.

The Baroness smiled.

"That depends on whether he likes any one well enough to marry her, doesn't it?"

He sighed.

"Do you think—honestly now," he said solemnly, "that one should marry for love or marry for money?"

"For love, certainly!"

"You really think so? You'd advise—er—advise a fellow to blow the prejudices of his friends, and that sort of thing?"

"I should have to know a little more about the case."

He was evidently longing for a confidant.

"Suppose er—one girl was ripping, but—well—on the stage, for instance."

"On the stage!" exclaimed the Baroness. "Yes, please go on. What about the other girl?"

"Suppose she had simply pots of money, but the fellow didn't know much more about her?"

"I certainly shouldn't marry a girl I didn't know a good deal about," said the Baroness with conviction.

Lord Tulliwuddle seemed impressed with this opinion.

"That's just what I have begun to think," said he, and gazed down at his pumps with a meditative air.

The Baroness thought the moment had come when she could effect a pretty little surprise.

"Which of them is called Eva?" she asked archly.

To her intense disappointment he merely stared.

"Don't you really know any girl called Eva?"

He shook his head.

"Can't think of any one."

Suspicion, fear, bewilderment, made her reckless.

"Have you been in Scotland—at your castle, as I heard you were going?"

A mighty change came over the young man. He backed away from her, stammering hurriedly,

"No—yes—I—er—why do you ask me that?"

"Is there any other Lord Tulliwuddle?" she demanded breathlessly.

He gave her one wild look, and then without so much as a farewell had turned and elbowed his way out of the room.

"It's all up!" he said to himself. "There's no use trying to play that game any longer—Essington has muddled it somehow. Well, I'm free to do what I like now!"

In this state of mind he found himself in the street, hailed the first hansom, and drove headlong from the dangerous regions of Belgravia.

. . . . . .

Till the middle of the next day the Baroness still managed to keep her own counsel, though she was now so alarmed that she was twenty times on the point of telling everything to her mother. But the arrival of a note from Sir Justin ended her irresolution. It ran thus:

"MY DEAR ALICIA,—I have just learned for certain that Lord T. is at his place in Scotland. Singularly enough, he is described as apparently of foreign extraction, and I hear that he is accompanied by a friend of the name of Count Bunker. I am just setting out for the North myself, and trust that I may be able to elucidate the mystery. Yours very truly,

"JUSTIN WALLINGFORD."

"Foreign extraction! Count Bunker!" gasped the Baroness; and without stopping to debate the matter again, she rushed into her mother's arms, and there sobbed out the strange story of her second letter and the two Lord Tulliwuddles.

It were difficult to say whether anger at her daughter's deceit, indignation with the treacherous Baron, or a stern pleasure in finding her worst prognostications in a fair way to being proved, was the uppermost emotion in Lady Grillyer's mind when she had listened to this relation. Certainly poor Alicia could not but think that sympathy for her troubles formed no ingredient in the mixture.

"To think of your concealing this from me for so long!" she cried: "and Sir Justin abetting you! I shall tell him very plainly what I think of him! But if my daughter sets an example in treachery, what can one expect of one's friends?"

"After all, mamma, it was my own and Rudolph's concern more than your's!" exclaimed Alicia, flaring up for an instant.

"Don't answer me, child!" thundered the Countess. "Fetch me a railway time-table, and say nothing that may add to your sin!"

"A time-table, mamma? What for?"

"I am going to Scotland," pronounced the Countess.

"Then I shall go too!"

"Indeed you shall not. You will wait here till I have brought Rudolph back to you."

The Baroness said nothing aloud, but within her wounded heart she thought bitterly,

"Mamma seems to forget that even worms will turn sometimes!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

"A decidedly delectable residence," said Count Bunker to himself as his dog-cart approached the lodge gates of The Lash. "And a very proper setting for the pleasant scenes so shortly to be enacted. Lodge, avenue, a bogus turret or two, and a flagstaff on top of 'em—by Gad, I think one may safely assume a tolerable cellar in such a mansion."

As he drove up the avenue between a double line of ancient elms and sycamores, his satisfaction increased and his spirits rose ever higher.

"I wonder if I can forecast the evening: a game of three-handed bridge, in which I trust I'll be lucky enough to lose a little silver, that'll put 'em in good-humor and make old Miss What-d'ye-may-call-her the more willing to go to bed early; then the departure of the chaperon; and then the tete-a-tete! I hope to Heaven I haven't got rusty!"

With considerable satisfaction he ran over the outfit he had brought, deeming it even on second thoughts a singularly happy selection: the dining coat with pale-blue lapels, the white tie of a new material and cut borrowed from the Baron's finery, the socks so ravishingly embroidered that he had more than once caught the ladies at Hechnahoul casting affectionate glances upon them.

"A first-class turn-out," he thought. "And what a lucky thing I thought of borrowing a banjo from young Gallosh! A coon song in the twilight will break the ground prettily."

By this time they had stopped before the door, and an elderly man-servant, instead of waiting for the Count, came down the steps to meet him. In his manner there was something remarkably sheepish and constrained, and, to the Count's surprise, he thrust forth his hand almost as if he expected it to be shaken. Bunker, though a trifle puzzled, promptly handed him the banjo case, remarking pleasantly—

"My banjo; take care of it, please."

The man started so violently that he all but dropped it upon the steps.

"What the deuce did he think I said?" wondered the Count. "'Banjo' can't have sounded 'dynamite.'"

He entered the house, and found himself in a pleasant hall, where his momentary uneasiness was at once forgotten in the charming welcome of his hostess. Not only she, but her chaperon, received him with a flattering warmth that realized his utmost expectations.

"It was so good of you to come!" cried Miss Wallingford.

"So very kind," murmured Miss Minchell.

"I knew you wouldn't think it too unorthodox!" added Julia.

"I'm afraid orthodoxy is a crime I shall never swing for," said the Count, with his most charming smile.

"I am sure my father wouldn't REALLY mind," said Julia.

"Not if Sir Justin shared your enthusiasm, dear," added Miss Minchell.

"I must teach him to!"

"Good Lord!" thought the Count. "This is friendly indeed."

A few minutes passed in the exchange of these preliminaries, and then his hostess said, with a pretty little air of discipleship that both charmed and slightly puzzled him,

"You do still think that nobody should dine later than six, don't you? I have ordered dinner for six to-night."

"Six!" exclaimed the Count, but recovering himself, added, "An ideal hour—and it is half-past five now. Perhaps I had better think of dressing."

"What YOU call dressing!" smiled Julia, to his justifiable amazement. "Let me show you to your room."

She led him upstairs, and finally stopped before an open door.

"There!" she said, with an air of pride. "It is really my father's bedroom when he is at home, but I've had it specially prepared for YOU! Is it just as you would like?"

Bunker was incapable of observing anything very particularly beyond the fact that the floor was uncarpeted, and as nearly free from furniture as a bedroom floor could well be.

"It is ravishing!" he murmured, and dismissed her with a well-feigned smile.

Bereft even of expletives, he gazed round the apartment prepared for him. It was a few moments before he could bring himself to make a tour of its vast bleakness.

"I suppose that's what they call a truckle-bed," he mused. "Oh, there is one chair—nothing but cold water-towels made of vegetable fibre apparently. The devil take me, is this a reformatory for bogus noblemen!"

He next gazed at the bare whitewashed wall. On it hung one picture—the portrait of a strangely attired man.

"What a shocking-looking fellow!" he exclaimed, and went up to examine it more closely.

Then, with a stupefying shock, he read this legend beneath it:

"Count Bunker. Philosopher, teacher, and martyr."

For a minute he stared in rapt amazement, and then sharply rang the bell.

"Hang it," he said to himself, "I must throw a little light on this somehow!"

Presently the elderly man-servant appeared, this time in a state of still more obvious confusion. For a moment he stared at the Count—who was too discomposed by his manner to open his lips—and then, once more stretching out his hand, exclaimed in a choked voice and a strong Scotch accent—

"How are ye, Bunker!"

"What the deuce!" shouted the Count, evading the proffered hand-shake with an agile leap.

The poor fellow turned scarlet, and in an humble voice blurted out—

"She told me to do it! Miss Julia said ye'd like me to shake hands and just ca' ye plain Bunker. I beg your pardon, sir; oh, I beg your pardon humbly!"

The Count looked at him keenly.

"He is evidently telling the truth," he thought.

Thereupon he took from his pocket half a sovereign.

"My good fellow," he began. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Mackenzie, sir."

"Mackenzie, my honest friend, I clearly perceive that Miss Wallingford, in her very kind efforts to gratify my unconventional tastes, has put herself to quite unnecessary trouble. She has even succeeded in surprising me, and I should be greatly obliged if you would kindly explain to me the reasons for her conduct, so far as you can."

At this point the half-sovereign changed hands.

"In the first place," resumed the Count, "what is the meaning of this remarkably villainous portrait labelled with my name?"

"That, sir," stammered Mackenzie, greatly taken aback by the inquiry. "Why, sir, that's the famous Count Bunker—your uncle, sir, is he no'?"

Bunker began to see a glimmer of light, though the vista it illumined was scarcely a much pleasanter prospect than the previous bank of fog. He remembered now, for the first time since his journey north, that the Baron, in dubbing him Count Bunker, had encouraged him to take the title on the ground that it was a real dignity once borne by a famous personage; and in a flash he realized the pitfalls that awaited a solitary false step.

"THAT my uncle!" he exclaimed with an air of pleased surprise, examining the portrait more attentively; "by Gad, I suppose it is! But I can't say it is a flattering likeness. 'Philosopher, teacher, and martyr'—how apt a description! I hadn't noticed that before, or I should have known at once who it was."

Still Mackenzie was looking at him with a perplexed and uneasy air.

"Miss Wallingford, sir, seems under the impression that you would be wanting jist the same kind of things as he likit," he remarked diffidently.

The Count laughed.

"Hence the condemned cell she's put me in? I see! Ha, ha! No, Mackenzie, I have moved with the times. In fact, my uncle's philosophy and teachings always struck me as hardly suitable for a gentleman."

"I was thinking that mysel'," observed Mackenzie.

"Well, you understand now how things are, don't you? By the way, you haven't put out my evening clothes, I notice."

"You werena to dress, sir, Miss Julia said."

"Not to dress! What the deuce does she expect me to dine in?"

With a sheepish grin Mackenzie pointed to something upon the bed which the Count had hitherto taken to be a rough species of quilt.

"She said you might like to wear that, sir."

The Count took it up.

"It appears to be a dressing-gown!" said he.

"She said, sir, your uncle was wont to dine in it."

"Ah! It's one of my poor uncle's eccentricities, is it? Very nice of Miss Wallingford; but all the same I think you can put out my evening clothes for me; and, I say, get me some hot water and a couple of towels that feel a little less like sandpaper, will you? By the way—one moment, Mackenzie!—you needn't mention anything of this to Miss Wallingford. I'll explain it all to her myself."

It is remarkable how the presence or absence of a few of the very minor accessories of life will affect the humor even of a man so essentially philosophical as Count Bunker. His equanimity was most marvelously restored by a single jugful of hot water, and by the time he came to survey his blue lapels in the mirror the completest confidence shone in his humorous eyes.

"How deuced pleased she'll be to find I'm a white man after all," he reflected. "Supposing I'd really turned out a replica of that unshaved heathen on the wall—poor girl, what a dull evening she'd have spent! Perhaps I'd better break the news gently for the chaperon's sake, but once we get her of to bed I rather fancy the fair Julia and I will smile together over my dear uncle's dressing-gown!"

And in this humor he strode forth to conquer.



CHAPTER XXIX

Count Bunker could not but observe that Miss Wallingford's eyes expressed more surprise than pleasure when he entered the drawing-room, and he was confirmed in his resolution to let his true character appear but gradually. Afterwards he could not congratulate himself too heartily on this prudent decision.

"I fear," he said, "that I am late." (It was in fact half-past six by now.) "I have been searching through my wardrobe to find some nether garments at all appropriate to the overall—if I may so term it—which you were kind enough to lay out for me. But I found mustard of that particular shade so hard to match that I finally decided in favor of this more conventional habit. I trust you don't mind?"

Both the ladies, though evidently disappointed, excused him with much kindness, and Miss Minchell alluded directly to his blue lapels as evidence that even now he held himself somewhat aloof from strict orthodoxy.

"May we see any allusion to your uncle, the late Count Bunker, in his choice of color?" she asked in a reverently hushed voice.

"Yes," replied the Count readily; "my aunt's stockings were of that hue."

From the startled glances of the two ladies it became plain that the late Count Bunker had died a bachelor.

"My other aunt," he exclaimed unabashed; yet nevertheless it was with decided pleasure that he heard dinner announced immediately afterwards.

"They seem to know something about my uncle," he said to himself. "I must glean a few particulars too."

A horrible fear lest his namesake might have dined solely upon herbs, and himself be expected to follow his example, was pleasantly dissipated by a glance at the menu; but he confessed to a sinking of his heart when he observed merely a tumbler beside his own plate and a large brown jug before him.

"Good heavens!" he thought, "do they imagine an Austrian count is necessarily a beer drinker?"

With a sigh he could not quite smother, he began to pour the contents into his glass, and then set it down abruptly, emitting a startled exclamation.

"What is the matter?" cried Julia sympathetically.

Her eyes (he was embarrassed to note) followed his every movement like a dog's, and her apprehension clearly was extreme.

"This seems to be water," smiled the Count, with an effort to carry off their error as pleasantly for them as possible.

"Isn't it good water?" asked Julia with an air of concern.

It was the Count's turn to open his eyes.

"You have concluded then that I am a teetotaler?"

"Of course, we know you are!"

"If we may judge by your prefaces," smiled Miss Minchell.

The Count began to realize the hazards that beset him; but his spirit stoutly rose to meet the shock of the occasion.

"There is no use in attempting to conceal my idiosyncrasies, I see," he answered. "But to-night, will you forgive me if I break through the cardinal rule of my life and ask you for a little stimulant? My doctor——"

"I see!" cried Miss Wallingford compassionately. "Of course, one can't dispute a doctor's orders. What would you like?"

"Oh, anything you have. He did recommend champagne—if it was good; but anything will do."

"A bottle of the VERY best champagne, Mackenzie!"

The dinner now became an entirely satisfactory meal. Inspired by his champagne and by the success of his audacity in so easily surmounting all difficulties, the Count delighted his hostesses by the vivacity and originality of his conversation. On the one hand, he chose topics not too flippant in themselves and treated them with a becomingly serious air; on the other, he carefully steered the talk away from the neighborhood of his uncle.

"By the time I fetch out my banjo they'll have forgotten all about him," he said to himself complacently.

Knowing well the importance of the individual factor in all the contingencies of life, he set himself, in the meanwhile, to study with some attention the two ladies beside him. Miss Minchell he had already summarized as an agreeable nonentity, and this impression was only confirmed on better acquaintance. It was quite evident, he perceived, that she was dragged practically unresisting in Miss Wallingford's wake—even to the length of abetting the visit of an unknown bachelor in the absence of Miss Wallingford's parent.

As for Julia, he decided that she was even better-looking and more agreeable than he had at first imagined; though, having the gayest of hearts himself, he was a trifle disconcerted to observe the uniform seriousness of her ideas. How one could reconcile her ecstatic enthusiasm for the ideal with her evident devotion to himself he was at a loss to conceive.

"However, we will investigate that later," he thought.

But first came a more urgent question: Had his uncle and his "prefaces" committed him to forswear tobacco? He resolved to take the bull by the horns.

"I hope you will not be scandalized to learn that I have acquired the pernicious habit of smoking?" he said as they rose from the table.

"I told you he was smoking a cigar at Hechnahoul!" cried Miss Minchell with an air of triumph.

"I thought you were mistaken," said Julia, and the Count could see that he had slipped a little from his pedestal.

This must not be permitted; yet he must smoke.

"Of course I don't smoke REAL tobacco!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, in that case," cried Julia, "certainly then you may smoke in the drawing-room. What is it you use?"

"A kind of herb that subdues the appetites, Miss Wallingford."

He could see at a glance that he was more firmly on his pedestal than ever.



CHAPTER XXX

"I have been longing for this moment!" said Julia softly.

The Count and she were seated over the drawing-room fire, Bunker in an easy-chair, smoking one of the excellent cigars which he had so grievously slandered, Julia upon a stool by his knees, her face suffused with the most intense expression of rapture. Miss Minchell was in the background, shrouded in shadow, purporting to be enjoying a nap; yet the Count could not but think that in so large a house a separate apartment might well have been provided for her. Her presence, he felt, circumscribed his actions uncomfortably.

"So have I!" he murmured, deeming this the most appropriate answer.

"Now we can talk about HIM!"

He started, but preserved his composure.

"Couldn't we keep HIM till morning?" he suggested.

"But that is why you are here!"

She spoke as if this were self-evident; while the Count read himself a thousand lessons upon the errors vanity is apt to lead one into. Yet his politeness remained unruffled.

"Of course," he answered. "Of course! But you see my knowledge of him——"

He was about to say that it was very slight, when, fortunately for him, she interrupted with an eager—

"I know! I know! You were more than a son to him!"

"The deuce and all!" thought the Count. "That was a narrow squeak!"

"Do you know," she continued in the same tone, "I have actually had the audacity to translate one of his books—your preface and all."

"I understand the allusion now," thought Bunker.

Aloud he had the presence of mind to inquire—

"Which was it?"

"'Existence Seriously Reviewed.'"

"You couldn't have made a better choice," he assured her.

"And now, what can you tell me about him?" she cried.

"Suppose we talk about the book instead," suggested Bunker, choosing what seemed the lesser of two evils.

"Oh, do!"

She rose impetuously, brought with a reverent air a beautifully written and neatly tied-up manuscript, and sat again by his knee. Looking over his shoulder he could see that the chaperon was wide awake and prepared to listen rapturously also.

"I have so often longed to have some one with me who could explain things—the very deep things, you know. But to think of having you—the Editor and nephew! It's too good to be true."

"Only eight o'clock," he said to himself, glancing at the clock. "I'm in for a night of it."

The vision of a game of bridge and a coon song on the banjo from that moment faded quite away, and the Count even tucked his feet as far out of sight as possible, since those entrancing socks served to remind him too poignantly of what might have been.

"What exactly did he mean by this?" began Julia, "'Let Potentates fear! Let Dives tremble! The horny hand of the poor Man in the Street is stretched forth to grasp his birthright!'"

"For 'birthright' read 'pocket-book.' There's a mistake in the translation," he answered promptly. "It appears to be an indirect argument for an increase in the Metropolitan police."

"Are you sure? I thought—surely it alludes to Socialism!"

"Of course; and the best advertisement for Socialism is a collision with the bobbies. My uncle was a remarkably subtle man, I assure you."

"How very ingenious!" exclaimed Miss Minchell from the background.

Julia did her best to feel convinced; but it was in a distinctly less ecstatic voice that she read her next extract.

"'Alcohol, riches, and starched linen are the moths and worms of society.' I suppose he means that they eat away its foundations?"

"On the contrary, he was an enthusiastic entomologist. He merely meant to imply that it isn't every one who can appreciate a glass of port and a clean shirt."

"But he didn't appreciate those things himself!"

"No; poor fellow. He often wished he could, though."

"Did he really?"

"Oh, you've no idea how tired he grew of flannel and ginger-beer! Many a time he's said to me, 'My boy, learn to take what's set before you, even at an alderman's table.' Ah, his was a generous creed, Miss Wallingford!"

"Yes, I suppose it was," said Julia submissively.

His advantage in being able to claim an intimate personal knowledge of the late philosopher's tastes encouraged the Count greatly. Realizing that a nephew could not well be contradicted, he was emboldened to ask whether there were any more points on which his authority could be of assistance.

"Oh yes," said she, "only—only somehow you seem to throw a different light on everything."

"Naturally, dear," chimed in Miss Minchell, "a personal explanation always makes things seem different."

Julia sighed, but summed up her courage to read out—

"'When woman is prized according to her intellect and man according to his virtue; oh, then mankind will return to Eden!'"

"That," said he, "is one of the rare instances of my uncle's pessimism."

"Of his pessimism! How can you say that?"

"He meant to imply that mankind would have to wait for some considerable time. But do not feel dismayed. My own opinion is that so long as woman is fair and man has the wit to appreciate her, we ARE in Eden."

The gracious tone in which he delivered this dictum, and the moving smile that accompanied it, appeared to atone completely for his relative's cynical philosophy. With a smile and a sigh Julia murmured—

"Do you really think so?"

"I do," said the Count fervently; "and now suppose we were to have a little music?"

"Oh yes!" cried Miss Minchell; "do you perform, Count Bunker?"

"I sometimes sing a little to the guitar."

"To the guitar!" said Julia. "How delicious! Have you brought it?"

"I have been so bold," he smiled, and promptly went to fetch this instrument.

In a few minutes he returned with an apologetic air.

"I find that by some error they have sent me away with a banjo instead," he exclaimed. "But I dare say I could manage an accompaniment on that if you would condescend to listen to me."

He felt so exceedingly disinclined for expounding a philosophy any longer that he gave them no time to dissent, even had they wished to, but on the instant struck up that pathetic ditty—

"Down by whar de beans grow blue."

And no sooner had he finished it than (barely waiting for his meed of applause) he further regaled them with—

"Twould make a fellow Turn green and yellow!

Finally, as a tit-bit, he contributed—

"When hubby s gone to Brighton, And I ve sent the cook to bed, Oh who's that a-knocking on the window!"

At the conclusion of this concert he knew not whether to feel more relieved or chagrined to observe that his fair hostess had her eyes fixed upon the clock. Thanking him with a slightly embarrassed air, she threw a pointed glance at Miss Minchell, and the two ladies rose.

"I am afraid you will think we keep very early hours," she began.

"It is one of the best rules in my uncle's philosophy," he interposed.

Yet though glad enough to have come so triumphantly to the end of his ordeal, he could not bring himself to let his charming disciple leave him in a wounded or even disappointed mood. As soon as Miss Minchell had passed through the door he quietly laid his hand upon Julia's arm, and with a gesture beckoned her back into the room.

"Pardon my seeming levity, Miss Wallingford," he said in a grave and gentle voice, "but you know not what emotions I had to contend with! I thank you for your charming sympathy, and I beg you to accept in my uncle's name that salute by which his followers distinguish the faithful."

And he thereupon kissed the blushing girl with a heartiness that restored her confidence in him completely.

"Well," he said to himself as he retired with his candle, "I've managed to get a fair penn'orth out of it after all."



CHAPTER XXXI

In spite of the Spartan transformation which Sir Justin's bedroom had undergone, our adventurer enjoyed an excellent night's rest. So fast asleep was he at the hour of eight next morning that it took him a few seconds to awake to the full possession of his faculties, even when disturbed by a loud exclamation at his bedside. He then became aware of the presence of an entire stranger in his room—a tall and elderly man, with a long nose and a grizzled beard. This intruder had apparently just drawn up the blind, and was now looking about him with an expression of the greatest concern.

"Mackenzie!" he cried, in the voice of one accustomed to be heard with submission, "What have you been doing to my room?"

The butler, too confused for coherent speech, was in the act of bringing in a small portmanteau.

"I—I mentioned, Sir Justin, your room was hardly ready for ye, sir. Perhaps, sir, if ye'd come into the pink room——"

"What the deuce, there's hardly a stick of furniture left! And whose clothes are these?"

"Mine," answered the Count suavely.

The stranger started violently, and turned upon the bed an eye at first alarmed, then rapidly becoming lit with indignation.

"Who—who is this?" he shouted.

"That, sir—that——" stammered Mackenzie.

"Is Count Bunker," said the Count, who remained entirely courteous in spite of the inconvenience of this intrusion. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Sir Justin Wallingford?"

"You have, sir."

"In that case, Mackenzie will be able to give you a satisfactory account of my presence; and in half an hour or so I shall have the pleasure of joining you downstairs."

The Count, with a polite smile, turned over in bed, as though to indicate that the interview was now at an end. But his visitor apparently had other views.

"I should be obliged by some explanation from yourself of your entry into my house," said he, steadily keeping his eye upon the Count.

"Now how the deuce shall I get out of this hole without letting Julia into another?" wondered Bunker; but before he could speak, Mackenzie had blurted out—

"Miss Wallingford, sir—the gentleman is a friend of hers, sir."

"What!" thundered Sir Justin.

"I assure you that Miss Wallingford was actuated by the highest motives in honoring me with an invitation to The Lash," said Bunker earnestly.

He had already dismissed an ingenious account of himself as a belated wanderer, detained by stress of weather, as certain to be contradicted by Julia herself, and decided instead on risking all upon his supposed uncle's saintly reputation.

"How came she to invite you, sir?" demanded Sir Justin.

"As my uncle's nephew, merely."

Sir Justin stared at him in silence, while he brought the full force of his capacious mind to bear upon the situation.

"Your name, you say, is Bunker?" he observed at length.

"Count Bunker," corrected that nobleman.

"Ah! Doubtless, then, you are the same gentleman who has been residing with Lord Tulliwuddle?"

"I am unaware of a duplicate."

"And the uncle you allude to——?"

By a wave of his hand the Count referred him to the portrait upon the wall. Sir Justin now stared at it.

"Bunker—Count Bunker," he repeated in a musing tone, and then turned to the present holder of that dignity with a look in his eye which the adventurer disliked exceedingly.

"I will confer with you later," he observed. "Mackenzie, remove my portmanteau."

In a voice inaudible to the Count he gave another order, which was followed by Mackenzie also removing the Count's clothes from their chair.

"I say, Mackenzie!" expostulated Bunker, now beginning to feel seriously uneasy; but heedless of his protest the butler hastened with them from the room.

Then, with a grim smile and a surprising alacrity of movement, Sir Justin changed the key into the outside of the lock, passed through the door, and shut and locked it behind him.

"The devil!" ejaculated Count Bunker.

Here was a pretty predicament! And the most ominous feature about it appeared to him to be the deliberation with which his captor had acted. It seemed that he had got himself into a worse scrape than he could estimate.

He wasted no time in examining his prison with an eye to the possibility of an escape, but it became very quickly evident that he was securely trapped. From the windows he could not see even a water-pipe within hail, and the door was unburstably ponderous. Besides, a gentleman attired either in pajamas or evening dress will naturally shrink from flight across country at nine o'clock in the morning. It seemed to the Count that he was as well in bed as anywhere else, and upon this opinion he acted.

In about an hour's time the door was cautiously unlocked, and a tray, containing some breakfast, laid upon the floor; but at the same time he was permitted to see that a cordon of grooms and keepers guarded against his flight. He showed a wonderful appetite, all circumstances considered, smoked a couple of cigars, and at last decided upon getting up and donning his evening clothes. Thereafter nothing occurred, beyond the arrival of a luncheon tray, till the afternoon was well advanced; by which time even his good spirits had become a trifle damped, and his apprehensions considerably increased.

At last his prison door was again thrown open, this time by Sir Justin himself.

"Come in, my dear," he said in a grave voice; and with a downcast eye and scarlet cheek the fair Julia met her guest again.

Her father closed the door, and they seated themselves before their prisoner, who, after a profound obeisance to the lady, faced them from the edge of his bed with an air of more composure than he felt.

"I await your explanation, Sir Justin," he began, striking at once the note which seemed to him (so far as he could guess) most likely to be characteristic of an innocent and much-injured man.

"You shall have it," said Sir Justin grimly. "Julia, you asked this person to my house under the impression that he was the nephew of that particularly obnoxious fanatic, Count Herbrand Bunker, and still engaged upon furthering his relative's philanthropic and other visionary schemes."

"But isn't he——" began Julia with startled eyes.

"I am Count Bunker," said our hero firmly.

"The nephew in question?" inquired Sir Justin.

"Certainly, sir."

Again Sir Justin turned to his daughter.

"I have already told you what I think of your conduct under any circumstances. What your feelings will be I can only surmise when I inform you that I have detained this adventurer here until I had time to despatch a wire and receive an answer from Scotland Yard."

Both Count and Julia started.

"What, sir!" exclaimed Bunker.

Quite unmoved by his protest, his captor continued, this time addressing him—

"My memory, fortunately, is unusually excellent, and when you told me this morning who you were related to, I recalled at once something I had heard of your past career. It is now confirmed by the reply I received to my telegram."

"And what, Sir Justin, does Scotland Yard have to say about me?"

"Julia," said her parent, "this unhappy young man did indeed profess for some time a regard for his uncle's teachings, and even, I believe, advocated them in writing. In this way he obtained the disposal of considerable funds contributed by unsuspicious persons for ostensibly philanthropic purposes. About two years ago these funds and Count Bunker simultaneously disappeared, and your estimable guest was last heard of under an assumed name in the republic of Uruguay."

Uncomfortable as his predicament was, this picture of himself as the fraudulent philanthropist was too much for Bunker's sense of humor, and to the extreme astonishment of his visitors he went off into a fit of laughter so hearty and prolonged that it was some time before he recovered his gravity.

"My dear friends," he exclaimed at last, "I am not that Bunker at all! In fact I was only created a few weeks ago. Bring me back my clothes, and in return I'll tell you a deuced sight funnier story even than that."

Sir Justin rose and led his daughter to the door.

"You will have an opportunity to-morrow," he replied stiffly. "In the meantime I shall leave you to the enjoyment of the joke."

"But, my dear sir——"

Sir Justin turned his back, and the door closed upon him again.

Count Bunker's position was now less supportable than ever.

"Escape I must," he thought.

And hardly had he breathed the word when a gleam of his old luck seemed to return. He was standing by the window, and presently he observed a groom ride up on a bicycle, dismount, and push it through an outhouse door. Then the man strolled off, and he said to himself, with an uprising of his spirits—

"There's my steed—if I could once get to it!"

Then again he thought the situation over, and gradually the prospect of a midnight ride on a bicycle over a road he had only once traversed, clad in his emblazoned socks and blue-lapelled coat, appeared rather less entertaining than another night's confinement. So he lit his last cigar, threw himself on the bed, and resigned himself to the consolations of an innocent heart and a practical philosophy.



CHAPTER XXXII

The clearness of the Count's conscience may be gauged when it is narrated that no sooner had he dismissed the stump of his cigar toward the grate than he dropped into a peaceful doze and remained placidly unconscious of his perils for the space of an hour or more. He was then awakened by the sound of a key being gently turned, and his opening eyes rested upon a charming vision of Julia Wallingford framed in the outline of the door.

"Hush!" she whispered; "I—I have brought a note for you!"

Smoothing his hair as he met her, the Count thanked her with an air of considerable feeling, and took from her hand a twisted slip of paper.

"It was brought by a messenger—a man in a kilt, who came in a motor car. I didn't know whether father would let you have it, so I brought it up myself."