"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.
