“Pairfectly,” said the Baron, much relieved; “to lay a certain case before a certain lady.  Zat is so, yes, exactly.”

Father and son glanced at one another.

“Your delicacy does you honor, very great honor,” said Mr. Maddison; “but business is business, Lord Tulliwuddle, and I should like to hear your proposition more precisely stated.  In fact, sir, I like to know just where I am.”

“That’s just about right,” assented Ri.

“I vould perhaps vish to marry her.”

“Perhaps!” exclaimed the two together.

Again the Count adroitly interposed—­

“You mean that you do not intend to thrust your attentions upon an unwilling lady?”

“Yes, yes; zat is vat I mean.”

“I see,” said Mr. Maddison slowly.  “H’m, yes.”

“Sounds what you Scotch call ‘canny,’ " commented Ri shrewdly.

“Well,” resumed the millionaire, “I have nothing to say against that; provided—­provided, I say, that you stipulate to marry the lady so long as she has no objections to you.  No fooling around—­that’s all we want to see to.  Our time, sir, is too valuable.”

“That is so,” said Ri.

The Baron’s color rose, and a look of displeasure came into his eyes, but before he had time to make a retort that might have wrecked his original’s hopes, Bunker said quickly—­

“Tulliwuddle places himself in your hands, with the implicit confidence that one gentleman reposes in another.”

Gulping down his annoyance, the Baron assented—­

“Yes, I vill do zat.”

Again father and son looked at one another, and this time exchanged a nod.

“That, sir, will satisfy us,” said Mr. Maddison.  “Ri, you may turn off the phonograph.”

And thereupon the cessation of a loud buzzing sound, which the visitors had hitherto attributed to flies, showed that their host now considered he had received a sufficient guarantee of his lordship’s honorable intentions.

“So far, so good,” resumed Mr. Maddison.  “I may now inform you, Lord Tulliwuddle, that the reports about you which I have been able to gather read kind of mixed, and before consenting to your reception within my daughter’s boudoir we should feel obliged if you would satisfy us that the worst of them are not true—­or, at least, sir, exaggerated.”

This time the Baron could not restrain an exclamation of displeasure.

“Vat, sir!” he cried, addressing the millionaire.  “Do you examine me on my life!”

“No, sir,” said Ri, frowning his most determined frown.  “It is to me you will be kind enough to give any explanation you have to offer!  Dad may be the spokesman, but I am the inspirer of these interrogations.  My sister, sir, the purest girl in America, the most beautiful creature beneath the star-spangled banner of Columbia, is not going to be the companion of dissolute idleness and gilded dishonor—­not, sir, if I know it.”