“Is—­is Miss Maddison still in the house?” she inquired, with an effort to put the question carelessly.

“I believe so,” said the Count in his kindest voice.

“And—­and—­that isn’t Lord Tulliwuddle with my father, is it?”

“I believe not,” said the Count, still more sympathetically.

She could no longer withhold a sigh, and the Count tactfully turned the conversation to the symbolical eagle arrived that morning from Mr. Maddison’s native State.

They had passed from the aviary to the flower garden, when at last they saw the Baron and Eleanor appear.  She joined the rest of the party, while he, walking thoughtfully in search of his friend, advanced in their direction.  He raised his eyes, and then, to complete Eva’s concern, he started in evident embarrassment at discovering her there also.  To do him justice, he quickly recovered his usual politeness.  Yet she noticed that he detained the Count beside him and showed a curious tendency to discourse solely on the fine quality of the gravel and the advantages of having a brick facing to a garden wall.

“My lord,” said Mr. Gallosh, approaching them, “would you be thinking of going soon?  I’ve noticed Mr. Maddison’s been taking out his watch verra frequently.”

“Certainly, certainly!” cried my lord.  “Oh, ve have finished all ve have come for.”

Eva started, and even Mr. Gallosh looked a trifle perturbed.

“Yes,” added the Count quickly, “we have a very good idea of the heating system employed.  I quite agree with you:  we can leave the rest to your engineer.”

But even his readiness failed to efface the effects of his friend’s unfortunate admission.

Farewells were said, the procession reformed, the pipers struck up, and amidst the heartiest expressions of pleasure from all, the chieftain and his friends marched off to the spot where (out of sight of Lincoln Lodge) the forethought of their manager had arranged that the carriages should be waiting.

“Well,” said Bunker, when they found themselves in their room again, “what do you think of Miss Maddison?”

The Baron lit a cigar, gazed thoughtfully and with evident satisfaction at the daily deepening shade of tan upon his knees, and then answered slowly—­

“Vell, Bonker, she is not so bad.”

“Ah,” commented Bunker.

“Bot, Bonker, it is not vat I do think of her.  Ach, no!  It is not for mein own pleasure.  Ach, nein!  How shall I do my duty to Tollyvoddle?  Zat is vat I ask myself.”

“And what answer do you generally return?”

“Ze answer I make is,” said the Baron gravely and with the deliberation the point deserved—­“Ze answer is zat I shall vait and gonsider vich lady is ze best for him.”

“The means you employ will no doubt include a further short personal interview with each of them?”

“Vun short!  Ach, Bonker, I most investigate mit carefulness.  No, no; I most see zem more zan zat.”