As it was, his aloofness, however natural, would probably have proved depressing had it not been for the gay charm and agreeable condescension of the other nobleman.  Seldom had more rested upon that adventurer’s shoulders, and never had he acquitted himself with greater credit.  It was with considerable secret concern that he found himself placed at the opposite end of the table from his friend, but his tongue rattled as gaily and his smiles came as readily as ever.  With Mrs. Cameron-Campbell on one side, and a minister’s lady upon the other, his host two places distant, and a considerable audience of silent eaters within earshot, he successfully managed to divert the attention of quite half the table from the chieftain’s moody humor.

“I always feel at home with a Scotsman,” he discoursed genially.  “His imagination is so quick, his intellect so clear, his honesty so remarkable, and” (with an irresistible glance at the minister’s lady) “his wife so charming.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Gallosh, who was mellowing rapidly under the influence of his own champagne.  “I’m verra glad to see you know good folks when you meet them.  What do you think now of the English?”

Having previously assured himself that his audience was neat Scotch, the polished Austrian unblushingly replied—­

“The Englishman, I have observed, has a slightly slower imagination, a denser intelligence, and is less conspicuous for perfect honesty.  His womankind also have less of that nameless grace and ethereal beauty which distinguish their Scottish sisters.”

It is needless to say that a more popular visitor never was seen than this discriminating foreigner, and if his ambitions had not risen above a merely personal triumph, he would have been in the highest state of satisfaction.  But with a disinterested eye he every now and then sought the farther end of the table, where, between his hostess and her charming eldest daughter, and facing his factor, the Baron had to endure his ordeal unsupported.

“I wonder how the devil he’s getting on!” he more than once said to himself.

For better or for worse, as the dinner advanced, he began to hear the Court accent more frequently, till his curiosity became extreme.

“His lordship seems in better spirits,” remarked Mr. Gallosh.

“I hope to Heaven he may be!” was the fervent thought of Count Bunker.

At that moment the point was settled.  With his old roar of exuberant gusto the Baron announced, in a voice that drowned even the five ministers—­

“Ach, yes, I vill toss ze caber to-morrow!  I vill toss him—­so high!” (his napkin flapped upwards).  “How long shall he be?  So tall as my castle:  Mees Gallosh, you shall help me?  Ach, yes!  Mit hands so fair ze caber vill spring like zis!”

His pudding-spoon, in vivid illustration, skipped across the table and struck his factor smartly on the shirt-front.