“Do I disturb you?”

He asked this with a quicker beating heart.  Not Eleanor alone, but her father and Ri confronted him, and it was very plain to see that a tempest was in the brewing.  Her eyes were bright with tears and indignation; their brows heavy with formidable frowns.  At the first moment of his entering, extreme astonishment at seeing him was clearly their dominant emotion, and as evidently it rapidly developed into a sentiment even less hospitable.

“Why, this beats the devil!” ejaculated Mr. Maddison; and for a moment this was the sole response to his inquiry.

The next to speak was Ri—­

“Show it him, Poppa!  Confront him with the evidence!”

With ominous deliberation the millionaire picked up a newspaper from the floor, where apparently it had been crumpled and flung, smoothed out the creases, and approached the Baron till their noses were in danger of collision.  While executing this manoeuvre the silence was only broken by the suppressed sobbing of his daughter.  Then at last he spoke.

“Our mails, sir, have just arrived.  This, sir, is ‘The Times’ newspaper, published in the city of London yesterday morning.”

He shook it in the Baron’s face with a sudden vehemence that caused that nobleman to execute an abrupt movement backward.

“Take it,” continued the millionaire—­“take it, sir, and explain this if you can!”

So confused had the Baron’s mind become already that it was with difficulty he could decipher the following petrifying announcement—­

“Tulliwuddle—­Herringay.—­In London, privately, Lord Tulliwuddle to Constance, daughter of Robert Herringay.”

The Baron’s brain reeled.

“Here is another paragraph that may interest you,” pursued Mr. Maddison, turning the paper outside in with an alarmingly vigorous movement, and presenting a short paragraph for the Baron’s inspection.  This ran—­

“Peer and actress.

“As announced in our marriage column, the wedding took place yesterday, privately, of Lord Tulliwuddle, kinsman and heir of the late peer of that name, so well known in London and Scottish society, and Miss Constance Herringay, better known as ‘Connie Fitz Aubyn,’ of the Gaiety Theatre.  It is understood that the young couple have departed for the Mediterranean.”

In a few seconds given him to prepare his mind, the Baron desperately endeavored to imagine what the resourceful Bunker would say or do under these awful circumstances.

“Well, sir?” said Mr. Maddison.

“It is a lie!”

“A lie?”

Ri laughed scornfully.

“Mean to say no such marriage took place?”

“It vas not me.”

“Who was it, then?”

“Anozzer man, perhaps.”

“Another Lord Tulliwuddle?” inquired the millionaire.

“Zey have made a mistake mit ze name.  Yes, zat is how.”