waits me—­but fonder than ever of little Min.  Oh, I tell you what, I ain’t a bit of a brag, but I’m some here.  The men think I’m a little the tallest lot in the shape of a commander they ever did see.  When I’m in Rome I do as the Romans do, and so I let fly at them a speech every now and then.  Why, I’ve gone through nearly the whole ’National Speaker’ by this time.  I’ve given them Marcellus’s speech to the mob, Brutus’s to the Romans, and Antony’s over Caesar’s dead body.  I tried a bit of Cicero against Catiline, but I couldn’t remember it very well.  You know it, of course. Quousque tandem, you know.”

[Illustration:  “CATCHING MINNIE IN HIS ARMS, HE KISSED HER SEVERAL TIMES.”]

“Well, Min, how goes it?” he continued.  “This is jolly; and, what’s more, it’s real good in you—­darn me if it ain’t!  I knew you’d be regularly struck up all of a heap when you heard of me as a Baron, but I really didn’t think you’d come all the way here to see me.  And you do look stunning!  You do beat all!  And this lady?  You haven’t introduced me, you know.”

The Baron rose, and looked expectantly at Mrs. Willoughby, and then at Minnie.  The latter faltered forth some words, among which the Baron caught the names Mrs. Willoughby and Rufus K. Gunn, the latter name pronounced, with the middle initial and all, in a queer, prim way.

“Mrs. Willoughby—­ah!—­Min’s sister, I presume.  Well, I’m pleased to see you, ma’am.  Do you know, ma’am, I have reason to remember your name?  It’s associated with the brightest hours of my life.  It was in your parlor, ma’am, that I first obtained Min’s promise of her hand.  Your hand, madam.”

And, stooping down, he grasped Mrs. Willoughby’s hand, which was not extended, and wrung it so hard that she actually gave a little shriek.

“For my part, ma’am,” he continued, “I’m not ashamed of my name—­not a mite.  It’s a good, honest name; but being as the Holy Father’s gone and made me a noble, I prefer being addressed by my title.  All Americans are above titles.  They despise them.  But being in Rome, you see, we must do as the Romans do; and so you needn’t know me as Rufus K. Gunn, but as the Baron Atramonte.  As for you, Min—­you and I won’t stand on ceremony—­you may call me ‘Roof,’ or any other name you fancy.  I would suggest some pet name—­something a little loving, you know.”

In the midst of all this, which was poured forth with extreme volubility, the servant came and handed a card.

“Count Girasole.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “HAWBURY, AS I’M A LIVING SINNER!”]

CHAPTER XV.

THE AMERICAN BARON.