“I came o'er many leagues of heatherTo carry back the answer whetherThe noble chieftain of my clanConducts him like a gentleman.”
After this warning, to put the third question required an effort of the most supreme resolution. The Baron was equal to it, however.
“Vat instroction do you give me?” he managed to utter.
In the gravest accents the Wraith chanted—
“Hang ever kilt above the knee,With Usquebaugh be not too free,When toasts and sic'like games be mootedSee that your dram be well diluted;And oh, if you'd escape from Hades,Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!”
The spirit vanished as magically as he had appeared, and with this solemn warning ringing in his ears, the Baron found himself in inky darkness again. This time he did not hesitate to grope madly for the door, but hardly had he reached it, when, with a fresh sensation of horror, he stumbled upon a writhing form that seemed to be pawing the panels. He was, fortunately; as quickly reassured by hearing the voice of Mr. Gallosh exclaim in terrified accents—
“I canna find the haundle! Oh, Gosh, where's the haundle?”
Being the less frenzied of the two, the Baron did succeed in finding the handle, and with a gasp of relief burst into the lighted anteroom. The piper had already departed, and evidently in haste, since he had left some portion of a bottle of whisky unfinished. This fortunate circumstance enabled them to recover something of their color, though, even when he felt his blood warming again, Mr. Gallosh could scarcely speak coherently of his terrible ordeal.
“What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!” he murmured. “Oh, my lord, let's get out of this!”
He was making for the door when the Baron seized his arm.
“Vait!” he cried. “Ze danger is past! Ach, vas I not brave? Did you not hear me speak to him? You can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?”
“I'll not swear I heard just exactly what passed, my lord. Man, I'll own I was awful feared!”
“Tuts! tuts!” said the Baron kindly. “Ve vill say nozing about zat. You stood vell by me, I shall say. And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze ghost.”
“I will that!” said Mr. Gallosh.
By the time they reached the drawing-room he had so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a very creditable witness, and between them they gave such an account of their adventure as satisfied even the excited expectations of their friends; though the Baron thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity to leave considerable mystery attaching to the precise revelations of his ancestral spirit.
“Bot vere is Bonker?” he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of his friend.
A moment later the Count entered and listened with the greatest interest to a second (and even more graphic) account of the adventure. More intimate particulars still were confided to him when they had retired to their own room, and he appeared as surprised and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire. As they parted for the night, the Baron started and sniffed at him.
“Vat a strange smell you have!” he exclaimed.
“Peat smoke, probably. This fire wouldn't draw.”
“Strange!” mused the Baron. “I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night.”
“Yes; one notices it all through the house with an east wind.”
This seemed to the Baron a complete explanation of the coincidence.
At the house in Belgrave Square at present tenanted by the Baron and Baroness von Blitzenberg, an event of considerable importance had occurred. This was nothing less than the arrival of the Countess of Grillyer upon a visit both of affection and state. So important was she, and so great the attachment of her daughter, that the preparations for her reception would have served for a reigning sovereign. But the Countess had an eye as quick and an appetite for respect as exacting as Queen Elizabeth, and she had no sooner embraced the Baroness and kissed her ceremoniously upon either cheek, than her glance appeared to seek something that she deemed should have been there also.
“And where is Rudolph?” she demanded. “Is he so very busy that he cannot spare a moment even to welcome me?”
The Baroness changed color, but with as easy an air as she could assume she answered that Rudolph had most unfortunately been summoned from England.
“Indeed?” observed the Countess, and the observation was made in a tone that suggested the advisability of a satisfactory explanation.
This paragon among mothers and peeresses was a lady of majestic port, whose ascendant expression and commanding voice were commonly held to typify all that is best in the feudal system; or, in other words, to indicate that her opinions had never been contradicted in her life. When one of these is a firm belief in the holder's divine rights and semi-divine origin, the effect is undoubtedly impressive. And the Countess impressed.
“My dear Alicia,” said she, when they had settled down to tea and confidential talk, “you have not yet told me what has taken Rudolph abroad again so soon.”
On nothing had the Baron laid more stress than on the necessity of maintaining the most profound secrecy respecting his mission. “No, not even to your mozzer most you say. My love, you vill remember?” had been almost his very last words before departing for St. Petersburg. His devoted wife had promised this not once, but many times, while his finger was being shaken at her, and would have scorned herself had she thought it possible to break her vows.
“That is a secret, mamma,” she declared.
Her mother opened her eyes.
“A secret from me, Alicia?”
“Rudolph made me promise.”
“Not to tell your friends—but that hardly was intended to include your mother.”
The Baroness looked uncomfortable.
“I—I'm afraid——” she began, and stopped in hesitation.
“Did he specifically include me?” demanded the Countess in an altered tone.
“I think, mamma, he did,” her daughter faltered.
“Ah!”
And there was a world of meaning in that comment.
“Believe me, mamma, it is something very, very important, or Rudolph would certainly have let me tell you all about it.”
Lady Grillyer opened her eyes still wider.
“Then I am to understand that he wishes to conceal from me anything that he considers of importance?”
“Oh, no! Not that! I only mean that this thing is very secret.”
“Alicia,” pronounced the Countess, “when a man specifically conceals anything from his mother-in-law, you may be quite certain that she ought to be informed of it at once.”
“I—I can't, mamma!”
“A trip to Germany—for it is there, I presume, he has gone—back to the scenes of his bachelorhood, unprotected by the influence of his wife! Do you call that a becoming procedure?”
“But he hasn't gone to Germany.”
“He has no business anywhere else!”
“You forget his diplomatic duties.”
“Ah! He professes to have gone on diplomatic business?”
“Professes, mamma?” exclaimed the poor Baroness. “How can you say such a thing! He certainly has gone on a diplomatic mission!”
“To Paris, no doubt?” suggested Lady Grillyer, with an intonation that made it quite impossible not to contradict her.
“Certainly not! He has gone to Russia.”
The more the Countess learned, the more anxious she appeared to grow.
“To Russia, on a diplomatic mission? This is incredible, Alicia!”
“Why should it be incredible?” demanded Alicia, flushing.
“Because he is a mere tyro in diplomacy. Because there is a German embassy at Petersburg, and they would not send a man from London on a mission—at least, it is most unlikely.”
“It seems to me quite natural,” declared the Baroness.
She was showing more fight than her mother had ever encountered from her before, and the opposition seemed to inflame Lady Grillyer's resentment against the unfilial couple.
“You know nothing about it! What is this mission about?”
“That certainly is a secret,” said Alicia, relieved that there was something left to keep her promise over.
“Has he gone alone?”
“I—I mustn't tell you, mamma.”
Alicia's face betrayed this subterfuge.
“You do not know yourself, Alicia,” said the Countess incisively. “And so you need no longer pretend to be keeping a secret from me. It now becomes our joint business to discover the actual truth. Do not attempt to wrangle with me further! This investigation is necessary for your peace of mind, dear.”
The unfortunate Baroness dropped a silent tear. Her peace of mind had been serenely undisturbed till this moment, and now it was only broken by the thought of her husband's displeasure should he ever learn how she had disobeyed his injunctions. Further investigation was the very last thing to cure it, she said to herself bitterly. She looked piteously at her parent, but there she only saw an expression of concentrated purpose.
“Have you any reason, Alicia, to suspect an attachment—an affair of any kind?”
“Mamma!”
“Do not jump in that excitable manner. Think quietly. He has evidently returned to Germany for some purpose which he wishes to conceal from us: the natural supposition is that a woman is at the bottom of it.”
“Rudolph is incapable——”
“No man is incapable who is in the full possession of his faculties. I know them perfectly.”
“But, mamma, I cannot bear to think of such a thing!”
“That is a merely middle-class prejudice. I can't imagine where you have picked it up.”
In point of fact, during Alicia's girlhood Lady Grillyer had always been at the greatest pains to preserve her daughter's innocent simplicity, as being preeminently a more marketable commodity than precocious worldliness. But if reminded of this she would probably have retorted that consistency was middle-class also.
“I have no reason to suspect anything of the sort,” the Baroness declared emphatically.
Her mother indulged her with a pitying smile and inquired—
“What other explanation can you offer? Among his men friends is there anyone likely to lead him into mischief?”
“None—at least——”
“Ah!”
“He promised me he would avoid Mr. Bunker—I mean Mr. Essington.”
The Countess started. She had vivid and exceedingly distasteful recollections of Mr. Bunker.
“That man! Are they still acquainted?”
“Acquainted—oh yes; but I give Rudolph credit for more sense and more truthfulness than to renew their friendship.”
The Countess pondered with a very grave expression upon her face, while Alicia gently wiped her eyes and ardently wished that her honest Rudolph was here to defend his character and refute these baseless insinuations. At length her mother said with a brisker air—
“Ah! I know exactly what we must do. I shall make a point of seeing Sir Justin Wallingford tomorrow.”
“Sir Justin Wallingford!”
“If anybody can obtain private information for us he can. We shall soon learn whether the Baron has been sent to Russia.”
Alicia uttered a cry of protest. Sir Justin, ex-diplomatist, author of a heavy volume of Victorian reminiscences, and confidant of many public personages, was one of her mother's oldest friends; but to her he was only one degree less formidable than the Countess, and quite the last person she would have chosen for consultation upon this, or indeed upon any other subject.
“I am not going to intrust my husband's secrets to him!” she exclaimed.
“I am,” replied the Countess.
“But I won't allow it! Rudolph would be——”
“Rudolph has only himself to blame. My dear Alicia, you can trust Sir Justin implicitly. When my child's happiness is at stake I would consult no one who was not discretion itself. I am very glad I thought of him.”
The Baroness burst into tears.
“My child, my child!” said her mother compassionately. “The world is no Garden of Eden, however much we may all try to make it so.”
“You—you don't se—seem to be trying now, mamma.”
“May Heaven forgive you, my darling,” pronounced the Countess piously.
“Sir Justin,” said the Countess firmly, “please tell my daughter exactly what you have discovered.”
Sir Justin Wallingford sat in the drawing-room at Belgrave Square with one of these ladies on either side of him. He was a tall, gaunt man with a grizzled black beard, a long nose, and such a formidably solemn expression that ambitious parents were in the habit of wishing that their offspring might some day be as wise as Sir Justin Wallingford looked. His fund of information was prodigious, while his reasoning powers were so remarkable that he had never been known to commit the slightest action without furnishing a full and adequate explanation of his conduct. Thus the discrimination shown by the Countess in choosing him to restore a lady's peace of mind will at once be apparent.
“The results of my inquiries,” he pronounced, “have been on the whole of a negative nature. If this mission on which the Baron von Blitzenberg professes to be employed is in fact of an unusually delicate nature, it is just conceivable that the answer I received from Prince Gommell-Kinchen, when I sounded him at the Khalifa's luncheon, may have been intended merely to throw dust in my eyes. At the same time, his highness appeared to speak with the candor of a man who has partaken, not excessively, you understand, but I may say freely, of the pleasures of the table.”
He looked steadily first at one lady and then at the other, to let this point sink in.
“And what did the Prince say?” asked the Baroness, who, in spite of her supreme confidence in her husband, showed a certain eager nervousness inseparable from a judicial inquiry.
“He told me—I merely give you his word, and not my own opinion; you perfectly understand that, Baroness?”
“Oh yes,” she answered hurriedly.
“He informed me that, in fact, the Baron had been obliged to ask for a fortnight's leave of absence to attend to some very pressing and private business in connection with his Silesian estates.”
“I think, Alicia, we may take that as final,” said her mother decisively.
“IndeedIshan't!” cried Alicia warmly. “That was just an excuse, of course. Rudolph's business is so very delicate that—that—well, that you could only expect Prince Gommell-Kinchen to say something of that sort.”
“What do you say to that, Sir Justin?” demanded the Countess.
With the air of a man doing what was only his duty, he replied—
“I say that I think it is improbable. In fact, since you demand to know the truth, I may inform you that the Prince added that leave of absence was readily given, since the Baron's diplomatic duties are merely nominal. To quote his own words, 'Von Blitzenberg is a nice fellow, and it pleases the English ladies to play with him.'”
Even Lady Grillyer was a trifle taken aback at this description of her son-in-law, while Alicia turned scarlet with anger.
“I don't believe he said anything of the sort!” she cried. “You both of you only want to hurt me and insult Rudolph! I won't stand it!”
She was already on her feet to leave them, when her mother stopped her, and Sir Justin hastened to explain.
“No reflection upon the Baron's character was intended, I assure you. The Prince merely meant to imply that he represented the social rather than the business side of the embassy. And both are equally necessary, I assure you—equally essential, Baroness, believe me.”
“In fact,” said the Countess, “the remark comes to this, that Rudolph would never be sent to Russia, whatever else they might expect of him.”
Even through their tears Alicia's eyes brightened with triumph.
“But he HAS gone, mamma! I got a letter from him this morning—from St. Petersburg!”
The satisfaction of her two physicians on hearing this piece of good news took the form of a start which might well have been mistaken for mere astonishment, or even for dismay.
“And you did not tell ME of it!” cried her mother.
“Rudolph did not wish me to. I have only told you now to prove how utterly wrong you both are.”
“Let me see this letter!”
“Indeed, mamma, I won't!”
The two ladies looked at one another with such animosity that Sir Justin felt called upon to interfere.
“Suppose the Baroness were to read us as much as is necessary to convince us that there is no possibility of a mistake,” he suggested.
So profoundly did the Countess respect his advice that she graciously waived her maternal rights so far as actually following the text with her eyes went; while her daughter, after a little demur, was induced to depart this one step further from her husband's injunctions.
“You have no objections to my glancing at the post-mark?” said Sir Justin when this point was settled.
With a toss of her head the Baroness silently handed him the envelope.
“It seems correct,” he observed cautiously.
“But post-marks can be forged, can't they?” inquired the Countess.
“I fear they can,” he admitted, with a sorrowful air.
Scorning to answer this insinuation, the Baroness proceeded to read aloud the following extracts:
“'I travelled with comfort through Europe, and having by many countries passed, such as Germany and others, I arrived, my dear Alicia, in Russia.'”
“Is that all he says about his journey?” interrupted Lady Grillyer.
“It is certainly a curiously insufficient description of a particularly interesting route,” commented Sir Justin.
“It almost seems as if he didn't know what other countries lie between England and Russia,” added the Countess.
“It only means that he knows geography doesn't interest me!” replied Alicia. “And he does say more about his journey—'Alone by myself, in a carriage very quietly I travelled.' And again—'To be observed not wishing, and strict orders being given to me, with no man I spoke all the way.' There!”
“That certainly makes it more difficult to check his statements,” Sir Justin admitted.
“Ah, he evidently thought of that!” said the Countess. “If he had said there was anyone with him, we could have asked him afterwards who it was. What a pity! Read on, my child—we are vastly interested.”
Thus encouraged, the Baroness continued
“'In Russia the crops are good, and from my window with pleasure I observe them. Petersburg is a nice town, and I have a pleasant apartment in it!'”
“What!” exclaimed the Countess. “He is looking at the crops from his window in St. Petersburg!”
Sir Justin grimly pursed his lips, but his silence was more ominous than speech. In fact, the Baron's unfortunate effort at realism by the introduction of his window struck the first blow at his wife's implicit trust in him. She was evidently a little disconcerted, though she stoutly declared—
“He is evidently living in the suburbs, mamma.”
“Will you be so kind as to read on a little farther?” interposed Sir Justin in a grave voice.
“'The following reflections have I made. Russia is very large and cold, where people in furs are to be seen, and sledges. Bombs are thrown sometimes, and the marine is not good when it does drink too much.' Now, mamma, he must have seen these things or he wouldn't put them in his letter.”
The Baroness broke of somewhat hurriedly to make this comment, almost indeed as though she felt it to be necessary. As for her two comforters, they looked at one another with so much sorrow that their eyes gleamed and their lips appeared to smile.
“The Baron did not write that letter in Russia,” said Sir Justin decisively. “Furs are not worn in summer, nor do the inhabitants travel in sledges at this time of the year.”
“But—but he doesn't say he actually saw them,” pleaded the Baroness.
“Then that remark, just like the rest of his reflections, makes utter nonsense,” rejoined her mother.
“Is that all?” inquired Sir Justin.
“Almost all—all that is important,” faltered the Baroness.
“Let us hear the rest,” said her mother inexorably.
“There is only a postscript, and that merely says—'The flask that you filled I thank you for; it was so large that it was sufficient for——' I can't read the last word.”
“Let me see it, Alicia.”
A few minutes ago Alicia would have torn the precious letter up rather than let another eye fall upon it. That her devotion was a little disturbed was proved by her allowing her two advisers to study even a single sentence. Keeping her hand over the rest, she showed it to them. They bent their brows, and then simultaneously exclaimed—
“'Us both!'”
“Oh, it can't be!” cried the poor Baroness.
“It is absolutely certain,” said her mother in a terrible voice—“'It was so large that it was sufficient for us both!'”
“There is no doubt about it,” corroborated Sir Justin sternly. “The unfortunate young man has inadvertently confessed his deception.”
“It cannot be!” murmured the Baroness. “He said at the beginning that he travelled quite alone.”
“That is precisely what condemns him,” said her mother.
“Precisely,” reiterated Sir Justin.
The Baroness audibly sobbed, while the two patchers of her peace of mind gazed at her commiserately.
“What am I to do?” she asked at length. “I can't believe he really—— But how am I to find out?”
“I shall make further investigations,” promptly replied Sir Justin.
“And I also,” added the Countess.
“Meanwhile,” said Sir Justin, “we shall be exceedingly interested to learn what further particulars of his wanderings the Baron supplies you with.”
“Yes,” observed the Countess, “he can fortunately be trusted to betray himself. You will inform me, Alicia, as soon as you hear from him again.”
Her daughter made no reply.
Sir Justin rose and bade them a grave farewell.
“In my daughter's name I thank you cordially,” said the Countess, as she pressed his hand.
“Anything I have done has been a pleasure to me,” he assured them with a sincerity there was no mistaking.
In an ancient and delightful garden, where glimpses of the loch below gleamed through a mass of summer foliage, and the gray castle walls looked down on smooth, green glades, the Baron slowly paced the shaven turf. But he did not pace it quite alone, for by his side moved a graceful figure in a wide, sun-shading hat and a frock entirely irresistible. Beneath the hat, by bending a little down, you could have seen the dark liquid eyes and tender lips of Eva Gallosh. And the Baron frequently bent down.
“I am proud of everyzing zat I find in my home,” said the Baron gallantly.
The lady's color rose, but not apparently in anger.
“Ach, here is a pretty leetle seat!” he exclaimed in a tone of pleased discovery, just as though he had not been leading her insidiously towards it ever since they, came into the garden.
It was, indeed, a most shady and secluded bench, an ideal seat for any gallant young Baron who had left his Baroness sufficiently far away. He glanced down complacently upon his brawny knees, displayed (he could not but think) to great advantage beneath his kilt and sporran, and then with a tenderer complacency, turned his gaze upon his fair companion.
“You say you like me in ze tartan?” he murmured.
“I adore everything Highland! Oh, Lord Tulliwuddle, how fortunate you are!”
Nature had gifted Miss Gallosh with a generous share of romantic sentiment. It was she who had egged on her father to rent this Highland castle for the summer, instead of chartering a yacht as he had done for the past few years; and ever since they had come here that sentiment had grown, till she was ready to don the white cockade and plot a new Jacobite uprising. Then, while her heart was in this inspired condition, a noble young chief had stepped in to complete the story. No wonder her dark eyes burned.
“What attachment you must feel for each stone of the Castle!” she continued in a rapt voice. “How your heart must beat to remember that your great-grandfather—wasn't his name Fergus?”
“Fergus: yes,” said the Baron, blindly but promptly.
“No, no; it was Ian, of course.”
“Ach, so! Ian he vas.”
“You were thinking of his father,” she smiled.
“Yes, his fazzer.”
She reflected sagely.
“I am afraid I get my facts mixed up some times. Ian—ah, Reginald came before him—not Fergus!”
“Reginald—oh yes, so he did!”
She looked a trifle disappointed.
“If I were you I should know them all by heart,” said she.
“I vill learn zem. Oh yes, I most not make soch mistakes.”
Indeed he registered a very sincere vow to study his family history that afternoon.
“What was I saying? Oh yes—about your brave great-grandfather. Do you know, Lord Tulliwuddle, I want to ask you a strange favor? You won't think it very odd of me?”
“Odd? Never! Already it is granted.”
“I want to hear from your own lips—from the lips of an actual Lord Tulliwuddle—the story of your ancestor Ian's exploit.”
With beseeching eyes and a face flushed with a sense of her presumption, she uttered this request in a voice that tore the Baron with conflicting emotions.
“Vich exploit do you mean?” he asked in a kindly voice but with a troubled eye.
“You must know! When he defended the pass, of course.”
“Ach, so!”
The Baron looked at her, and though he boasted of no such inventive gifts as his friend Bunker, his ardent heart bade him rather commit himself to perdition than refuse.
“You will tell it to me?”
“I vill!”
Making as much as possible of the raconteur's privileges of clearing his throat, settling himself into good position, and gazing dreamily at the tree-tops for inspiration, he began in a slow, measured voice—
“In ze pass he stood. Zen gomed his enemies. He fired his gon and shooted some dead. Zen did zey run avay. Zat vas vat happened.”
When he ventured to meet her candid gaze after thus lamely libelling his forefather, he was horrified to observe that she had already recoiled some feet away from him, and seemed still to be in the act of recoiling.
“It would have been kinder to tell me at once that I had asked too much!” she exclaimed in a voice affected by several emotions. “I only wanted to hear you repeat his death-cry as his foes slew him, so that it might always seem more real to me. And you snub me like this!”
The Baron threw himself upon one knee.
“Forgive me! I did jost lose mine head mit your eyes looking so at me! I get confused, you are so lovely! I did not mean to snob!”
In the ardor of his penitence he discovered himself holding her hand; she no longer seemed to be recoiling; and Heaven knows what might have happened next if an ostentatious sound of whistling had not come to their rescue.
“Bot you vill forgive?” he whispered, as they sprang up from their shady seat.
“Ye-es,” she answered, just as the serene glance of Count Bunker fell humorously upon them.
“You seem to have been plucking flowers, Tulliwuddle,” he observed.
“Flowers? Oh, no.”
The Count glanced pointedly at his soiled knee.
“Indeed!” said he. “Don't I see traces of a flower-bed?”
“I think I should go in,” murmured Eva, and she was gone before the Count had time to frame a compensating speech.
His friend Tulliwuddle looked at him with marked displeasure, yet seemed to find some difficulty in adequately expressing it.
“I do not care for vat you said,” he remarked stiffly. “Nor for ze look now on your face.”
“Baron,” said the Count imperturbably, “what did you tell me the Wraith said to you—something about 'Beware of the ladies,' wasn't it?”
“You do not onderstand. Ze ghost” (he found some difficulty in pronouncing the spirit's chosen name) “did soppose naturally zat I vas ze real Lord Tollyvoddle, who is, as you have told me yourself, Bonker, somezing of a fast fish. Ze varning vas to him obviously, so you should not turn it upon me.”
Bunker opened his eyes.
“A deuced ingenious argument,” he commented. “It wouldn't have occurred to me if you hadn't explained. Then you claim the privilege of wooing whom you wish?”
“Wooing! You forget zat I am married, Bonker.”
“Oh no, I remember perfectly.”
His tone disturbed the Baron. Taking the Count's arm, he said to him with moving earnestness—
“Have I not told you how constant I am—like ze magnet and ze pole?”
“I have heard you employ the simile.”
“Ach, bot it is true! I am inside my heart so constant as it is possible! But I now represent Tollyvoddle, and for his sake most try to do my best.”
Again Count Bunker glanced at his knee.
“And that is your best, then?”
“Listen, Bonker, and try to onderstand—not jost to make jokes. It appears to me zat Miss Gallosh vill make a good vife to Tollyvoddle. She is so fair, so amiable, and so rich. Could he do better? Should I not lay ze foundations of a happy marriage mit her? Soppose ve do get her instead of Miss Maddison, eh?”
His artful eloquence seemed to impress his friend, for he smiled thoughtfully and did not reply at once. More persuasively than ever the Baron continued—
“I do believe mit patience and mit—er—mit kindness, Bonker, I might persuade Miss Gallosh to listen to ze proposal of Tollyvoddle. And vould it not be better far to get him a lady of his own people, and not a stranger from America? Ve vill not like Miss Maddison, I feel sure. Vy troble mit her—eh, Bonker?”
“But don't you think, Baron, that we ought to give Tulliwuddle his choice? He may prefer an American heiress to a Scottish.”
“Not if he sees Eva Gallosh!”
Again the Count gently raised his eyebrows in a way that the Baron could not help considering unsuitable to the occasion.
“On the other hand, Baron, Miss Maddison will probably have five or ten times as much money as Miss Gallosh. In arranging a marriage for another man, one must attend to such trifles as a few million dollars more or less.”
For the moment the Baron was silenced, but evidently not convinced.
“Supposing I were to call upon the Maddisons as your envoy?” suggested Bunker, who, to tell the truth, had already begun to tire of a life of luxurious inaction.
“Pairhaps in a few days we might gonsider it.”
“We have been here for a week already.”
“Ven vould you call?”
“To-morrow, for instance.”
The Baron frowned; but argument was difficult.
“You only jost vill go to see?”
“And report to you.”
“And suppose she is ogly—or not so nice—or so on——zen vill I not see her, eh?”
“But suppose she is tolerable?”
“Zen vill ve give him a choice, and I vill continue to be polite to Miss Gallosh. Ah, Bonker, she is so nice! He vill not like Miss Maddison so vell! Himmel, I do admire her!”
The Baron's eyes shone with reminiscent affection.
“To how many poles is the magnet usually constant?” inquired the Count with a serious air.
The Baron smiled a little foolishly, and then, with a confidential air, replied—
“Ach, Bonker, marriage is blessed and it is happy, and it is everyzing that my heart desires; only I jost sometimes vish it vas not qvite—qvite so uninterruptable!”
In a dog-cart borrowed from his obliging host, Count Bunker approached the present residence of Mr. Darius P. Maddison. He saw, and—in his client's interest—noted with approval the efforts that were being made to convert an ordinary fishing-lodge into a suitable retreat for a gentleman worth so many million dollars. “Corryvohr,” as the house was originally styled, or “Lincoln Lodge,” as the patriotic Silver King had re-named it, had already been enlarged for his reception by the addition of four complete suites of apartments, each suitable for a nobleman and his retinue, an organ hall, 10,000 cubic yards of scullery accommodation, and a billiard-room containing three tables. But since he had taken up his residence there he had discovered the lack of several other essentials for a quiet “mountain life” (as he appropriately phrased it), and these defects were rapidly being remedied as our friend drove up. The conservatory was already completed, with the exception of the orchid and palm houses; the aviary was practically ready, and several crates of the rarer humming-birds were expected per goods train that evening; while a staff of electricians could be seen erecting the private telephone by which Mr. Maddison proposed to keep himself in touch with the silver market.
The Count had no sooner pressed the electric bell than a number of men-servants appeared, sufficient to conduct him in safety to a handsome library fitted with polished walnut, and carpeted as softly as the moss on a mountain-side. Having sent in his card, he entertained himself by gazing out of the window and wondering what strange operation was being conducted on a slope above the house, where a grove of pines were apparently being rocked to and fro by a concourse of men with poles and pulleys. But he had not to wait long, for with a promptitude that gave one some inkling of the secret of Mr. Maddison's business success, the millionaire entered.
In a rapid survey the Count perceived a tall man in the neighborhood of sixty: gray-haired, gray-eyed, and gray-faced. The clean-shaved and well-cut profile included the massive foundation of jaw which Bunker had confidently anticipated, and though his words sounded florid in a European ear, they were uttered in a voice that corresponded excellently with this predominant chin.
“I am very pleased to see you, sir, very pleased indeed,” he assured the Count not once but several times, shaking him heartily by the hand and eyeing him with a glance accustomed to foresee several days before his fellows the probable fluctuations in the price of anything.
“I have taken the liberty of calling upon you in the capacity of Lord Tulliwuddle's confidential friend,” the Count began. “He is at present, as you may perhaps have learned, visiting his ancestral possessions——”
“My dear sir, for some days we have been expecting his lordship and yourself to honor us with a visit,” Mr. Maddison interposed. “You need not trouble to introduce yourself. The name of Count Bunker is already familiar to us.”
He bowed ceremoniously as he spoke, and the Count with no less politeness laid his hand upon his heart and bowed also.
“I looked forward to the meeting with pleasure,” he replied. “But it has already exceeded my anticipations.”
He would have still further elaborated these assurances, but with his invariable tact he perceived a shrewd look in the millionaire's eye that warned him he had to do with a man accustomed to flowery preliminaries from the astutest manipulators of a deal.
“I am only sorry you should find our little cottage in such disorder,” said Mr. Maddison. “The contractor for the conservatory undertook to erect it in a week, and my only satisfaction is that he is now paying me a forfeit of 500 dollars a day. As for the electricians in this country, sir, they are not incompetent men, but they must be taught to hustle if they are to work under American orders; and I don't quite see how they are to find a job anyways else.”
He turned to the window with a more satisfied air.
“Here, however, you will perceive a tolerably satisfactory piece of work. I guess those trees will be ready pretty near as soon as the capercailzies are ready for them.”
Count Bunker opened his eyes.
“Do I understand that you are erecting a pine wood?”
“You do. That fir forest is my daughter's notion. She thought ordinary plane-trees looked kind of unsuitable for our mountain home. The land of Burns and of the ill-fated Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, should have more appropriate foliage than that! Well, sir, it took four hundred men just three days to remove the last traces of the last root of the last of those plane-trees.”
“And the pines, I suppose, you brought from a neighboring wood?” said the Count, patriotically endeavoring not to look too dumbfoundered.
“No, sir. Lord Tulliwuddle's factor was too slow for me—said he must consult his lordship before removing the timber on the estate. I cabled to Norway: the trees arrived yesterday in Aberdeen, and I guess half of them are as near perpendicular by now as a theodolite can make them. They are being erected, sir, on scientific principles.”
Restraining his emotion with a severe effort, Bunker quietly observed
“Very good idea. I don't know that it would have occurred to me to land them at Aberdeen.”
From the corner of his eye he saw that his composure had produced a distinct impression, but he found it hard to retain it through the Silver King's next statement.
“You have taken a long lease of Lincoln Lodge, I presume?” he inquired.
“One year,” said Mr. Maddison. “But I reckon to be comfortable if I'm spending twenty minutes at a railroad junction.”
“Ah!” responded the Count, “in that case shifting a forest must be child's-play.”
The millionaire smiled affably at this pleasantry and invited his guest to be seated.
“You will try something American, I hope, Count Bunker?” he asked, touching the bell.
Count Bunker, rightly conceiving this to indicate a cock-tail, replied that he would, and in as nearly seven and a half seconds as he could calculate, a tray appeared with two of these remarkable compounds. Following his host's example, the Count threw his down at a gulp.
“The same,” said Mr. Maddison simply. And in an almost equally brief space the same arrived.
“Now,” said he, when they were alone again, “I hope you will pardon me, Count, if I am discourteous enough to tell you that my time is uncomfortably cramped. When I first came here I found that I was expected to stand upon the shore of the river for two hours on the chance of catching one salmon. But I have changed all that. As soon as I step outside my door, my ghillie brings me my rod, and if there ain't a salmon at the end for me to land, another ghillie will receive his salary. Since lunch I have caught a fish, despatched fifteen cablegrams, and dictated nine letters. I am only on holiday here, and if I don't get through double that amount in the next two hours I scarcely see my way to do much more fishing to-day. That being so, let us come right to the point. You bring some kind of proposition from Lord Tulliwuddle, I guess?”
During his drive the Count had cogitated over a number of judicious methods of opening the delicate business; but his adaptability was equal to the occasion. In as business-like a tone as his host, he replied—
“You are quite right, Mr. Maddison. Lord Tulliwuddle has deputed me to open negotiations for a certain matrimonial project.”
Mr. Maddison's expression showed his appreciation of this candor and delicacy.
“Well,” said he, “to be quite frank, Count, I should have thought all the better of his lordship if he had been a little more prompt about the business.”
“It is not through want of admiration for Miss Maddison, I assure you——”
“No,” interrupted Mr. Maddison, “it is because he does not realize the value of time—which is considerably more valuable than admiration, I can assure you. Since I discussed the matter with Lord Tulliwuddle's aunt we have had several more buyers—I should say, suitors—in the market—er—in the field, Count Bunker. But so far, fortunately for his lordship, my Eleanor has not approved of the samples sent, and if he still cares to come forward we shall be pleased to consider his proposition.”
The millionaire looked at him out of an impenetrable eye; and the Count in an equally guarded tone replied,
“I greatly approve of putting things on so sound a footing, and with equal frankness I may tell you—in confidence, of course—that Lord Tulliwuddle also is not without alternatives. He would, however, prefer to offer his title and estates to Miss Maddison, provided that there is no personal objection to be found on either side.”
Mr. Maddison's eye brightened and his tone warmed.
“Sir,” said he, “I guess there won't be much objection to Eleanor Maddison when your friend has seen her. Without exaggeration, I may say that she is the most beautiful girl in America, and that is to say, the most beautiful girl anywhere. The precise amount of her fortune we can discuss, supposing the necessity arrives: but I can assure you it will be sufficient to set three of your mortgaged British aristocrats upon their legs again. No, sir, the objection will not come from THAT side!”
With a gentle smile and a deprecatory gesture the Count answered, “I am convinced that Miss Maddison is all—indeed, more than all—your eloquence has painted. On the other hand, I trust that you will not be disappointed in my friend Tulliwuddle.”
Mr. Maddison crossed his legs and interlocked his fingers like a man about to air his views. This, in fact, was what he proceeded to do.
“My opinion of aristocracies and the pampered individuals who compose them is the opinion of an intelligent and enlightened democrat. I see them from the vantage-ground of a man who has made his own way in the world unhampered by ancestry, who has dwelt in a country fortunately unencumbered by such hindrances to progress, and who has no personal knowledge of their defects. You will admit that I speak with unusual opportunities of forming a judgment?”
“You should have the impartiality of a missionary,” said Bunker gravely.
“That is so, sir. Now, in proposing to marry my daughter to a member of this class, I am actuated solely by a desire to take advantage of the opportunities such an alliance would confer. I am still perfectly clear?”
“Perfectly,” replied Bunker, with the same profound gravity.
“In consequence,” resumed the millionaire, with the impressiveness of a logician drawing a conclusion from two irrefutable premises—“in consequence, Count Bunker, I demand—and my daughter demands—and my son demands, sir, that the nobleman should possess an unusual number of high-class, fire-proof, expert-guaranteed qualities. That is only fair, you must admit?”
“I agree with you entirely.”
Mr. Maddison glanced at the clock and sprang to his feet.
“I have not the pleasure of knowing my neighbor, Mr. Gallosh,” he said, resuming his brisk business tone; “but I beg you to convey to him and to his wife and daughter my compliments—and my daughter's compliments—and tell them that we hope they will excuse ceremony and bring Lord Tulliwuddle to luncheon to-morrow.”
Count Bunker expressed his readiness to carry this message, and the millionaire even more briskly resumed—
“I shall now give myself the pleasure of presenting you to my son and daughter.”
With his swiftest strides he escorted his distinguished guest to another room, flung the door open, announced, “My dears, Count Bunker!” and pressed the Count's hand even as he was effecting this introduction.
“Very pleased to have met you, Count. Good day,” he ejaculated, and vanished on the instant.