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!”

CHAPTER XVI

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,