“It must be a gift from——­” he began, and then laid it down again, though his gaze continued fixed upon it.  “How did it gom in?” he mused.  “Ach! she most have brought it herself.  How vary nice!”

He turned suddenly and met his friend’s humorous eyes.

“I shall be faithful, Bonker!  You can trust me!” he exclaimed; “I shall put it in my letter to Alicia, and send it mit my love!  See, Bonker!”

He took a letter from his desk—­its envelope still open—­hurriedly slipped in the white heather, and licked the gum while his resolution was hot.  Then, having exhibited this somewhat singular evidence of his constancy, he sighed again.

“It vas ze only safe vay,” he said dolefully.  “Vas I not right, Bonker?”

“Quite, my dear Baron,” replied the Count sympathetically.  “Believe me, I appreciate your self-sacrifice.  In fact, it was to relieve the strain upon your too generous heart that I immediately accepted Mr. Maddison’s invitation for to-morrow.”

“How so?” demanded the Baron with perhaps excusable surprise.

“You will be able to decide at once which is the most suitable bride for Tulliwuddle, and then, if you like, we can leave in a day or two.”

“Bot I do not vish to leave so soon!”

“Well then, while you stay, you can at least make sure that you are engaging the affections of the right girl.”

Though Bunker spoke with an air of desiring merely to assist his friend, the speech seemed to arouse some furious thinking in the Baron’s mind.

For some moments he made no reply, and then at last, in a troubled voice, he said—­

“I have already a leetle gommitted Tollyvoddle to Eva.  Ach, bot not moch!  Still it vas a leetle.  Miss Maddison—­vat is she like?”

To the best of his ability the Count sketched the charms of Eleanor Maddison—­her enthusiasm for large and manly noblemen, and the probable effects of the Baron’s stalwart form set off by the tartan which (in deference, he declared, to the Wraith’s injunctions) he now invariably wore.  Also, he touched upon her father’s colossal fortune, and the genuine Tulliwuddle’s necessities.

The Baron listened with growing interest.

“Vell,” he said, “I soppose I most make a goot impression for ze sake of Tollyvoddle.  For instance, ven we drive up——­”

“Drive? my dear Baron, we shall march!  Leave it to me; I have a very pretty design shaping in my head.”

“Aha!” smiled the Baron; “my showman again, eh?”

His expression sobered, and he added as a final contribution to the debate—­

“But I may tell you, Bonker, I do not eggspect to like Miss Maddison.  Ah, my instinct he is vonderful!  It vas my instinct vich said.  ’Chose Miss Gallosh for Tollyvoddle!’ "

CHAPTER XIX