As for Julia, he decided that she was even better-looking and more agreeable than he had at first imagined; though, having the gayest of hearts himself, he was a trifle disconcerted to observe the uniform seriousness of her ideas.  How one could reconcile her ecstatic enthusiasm for the ideal with her evident devotion to himself he was at a loss to conceive.

“However, we will investigate that later,” he thought.

But first came a more urgent question:  Had his uncle and his “prefaces” committed him to forswear tobacco?  He resolved to take the bull by the horns.

“I hope you will not be scandalized to learn that I have acquired the pernicious habit of smoking?” he said as they rose from the table.

“I told you he was smoking a cigar at Hechnahoul!” cried Miss Minchell with an air of triumph.

“I thought you were mistaken,” said Julia, and the Count could see that he had slipped a little from his pedestal.

This must not be permitted; yet he must smoke.

“Of course I don’t smoke real tobacco!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, in that case,” cried Julia, “certainly then you may smoke in the drawing-room.  What is it you use?”

“A kind of herb that subdues the appetites, Miss Wallingford.”

He could see at a glance that he was more firmly on his pedestal than ever.

CHAPTER XXX

“I have been longing for this moment!” said Julia softly.

The Count and she were seated over the drawing-room fire, Bunker in an easy-chair, smoking one of the excellent cigars which he had so grievously slandered, Julia upon a stool by his knees, her face suffused with the most intense expression of rapture.  Miss Minchell was in the background, shrouded in shadow, purporting to be enjoying a nap; yet the Count could not but think that in so large a house a separate apartment might well have been provided for her.  Her presence, he felt, circumscribed his actions uncomfortably.

“So have I!” he murmured, deeming this the most appropriate answer.

“Now we can talk about him!”

He started, but preserved his composure.

“Couldn’t we keep him till morning?” he suggested.

“But that is why you are here!”

She spoke as if this were self-evident; while the Count read himself a thousand lessons upon the errors vanity is apt to lead one into.  Yet his politeness remained unruffled.

“Of course,” he answered.  “Of course!  But you see my knowledge of him——­”

He was about to say that it was very slight, when, fortunately for him, she interrupted with an eager—­

“I know!  I know!  You were more than a son to him!”

“The deuce and all!” thought the Count.  “That was a narrow squeak!”

“Do you know,” she continued in the same tone, “I have actually had the audacity to translate one of his books—­your preface and all.”