With a gentle smile and a deprecatory gesture the Count answered, “I am convinced that Miss Maddison is all—­indeed, more than all—­your eloquence has painted.  On the other hand, I trust that you will not be disappointed in my friend Tulliwuddle.”

Mr. Maddison crossed his legs and interlocked his fingers like a man about to air his views.  This, in fact, was what he proceeded to do.

“My opinion of aristocracies and the pampered individuals who compose them is the opinion of an intelligent and enlightened democrat.  I see them from the vantage-ground of a man who has made his own way in the world unhampered by ancestry, who has dwelt in a country fortunately unencumbered by such hindrances to progress, and who has no personal knowledge of their defects.  You will admit that I speak with unusual opportunities of forming a judgment?”

“You should have the impartiality of a missionary,” said Bunker gravely.

“That is so, sir.  Now, in proposing to marry my daughter to a member of this class, I am actuated solely by a desire to take advantage of the opportunities such an alliance would confer.  I am still perfectly clear?”

“Perfectly,” replied Bunker, with the same profound gravity.

“In consequence,” resumed the millionaire, with the impressiveness of a logician drawing a conclusion from two irrefutable premises—­“in consequence, Count Bunker, I demand—­and my daughter demands—­and my son demands, sir, that the nobleman should possess an unusual number of high-class, fire-proof, expert-guaranteed qualities.  That is only fair, you must admit?”

“I agree with you entirely.”

Mr. Maddison glanced at the clock and sprang to his feet.

“I have not the pleasure of knowing my neighbor, Mr. Gallosh,” he said, resuming his brisk business tone; “but I beg you to convey to him and to his wife and daughter my compliments—­and my daughter’s compliments—­and tell them that we hope they will excuse ceremony and bring Lord Tulliwuddle to luncheon to-morrow.”

Count Bunker expressed his readiness to carry this message, and the millionaire even more briskly resumed—­

“I shall now give myself the pleasure of presenting you to my son and daughter.”

With his swiftest strides he escorted his distinguished guest to another room, flung the door open, announced, “My dears, Count Bunker!” and pressed the Count’s hand even as he was effecting this introduction.

“Very pleased to have met you, Count.  Good day,” he ejaculated, and vanished on the instant.

CHAPTER XVII

Raising his eyes after the profound bow which the Count considered appropriate to his character of plenipotentiary, he beheld at last the object of his mission; and whether or not she was the absolutely peerless beauty her father had vaunted, he at once decided that she was lovely enough to grace Hechnahoul, or any other, Castle.  Black eyes and a mass of coal-black hair, an ivory pale skin, small well-chiselled features, and that distinctively American plumpness of contour—­these marked her face; while as for her figure, it was the envy of her women friends and the distraction of all mankind who saw her.