He knew not whether to feel more relieved or embarrassed to find that he evidently rose in her estimation as a conscientious landlord.

. . . . . .

“You are having a capital day’s sport, Baron,” said the Count gaily, as they drew near Lincoln Lodge.

During their drive the Baron had remained unusually silent.  He now roused himself and said in a guarded whisper—­

“Bonker, vill you please to give ze coachman some money not to say jost vere he did drive us.”

“I have done so,” smiled the Count.

His friend gratefully grasped his hand and curled his mustache with an emboldened air.

A similar display of address on the part of Count Bunker resulted in the Baron’s finding himself some ten minutes later alone with Miss Maddison in her sanctuary.  But, to his great surprise, he was greeted with none of the encouraging cordiality that had so charmed him yesterday.  The lady was brief in her responses, critical in her tone, and evidently disposed to quarrel with her admirer on some ground at present entirely mysterious.  Indeed, so discouraging was she that at length he exclaimed—­

“Tell me, Miss Maddison—­I should not have gom to-day?  You did not vish to see me.  Eh?”

“I certainly was perfectly comfortable without you, Lord Tulliwuddle,” said the heiress tartly.

“Shall I go avay?”

“You have come here entirely for your own pleasure; and the moment you begin to feel tired there is nothing to hinder you going home again.”

“You vere more kind to me yesterday,” said the Baron sadly.

“I did not learn till after you had gone how much I was to blame for keeping you so long away from your friends.  Please do not think I shall repeat the offence.”

There was an accent on the word “friends” that enlightened the bewildered nobleman, even though quickness in taking a hint was not his most conspicuous attribute.  That the voice of gossip had reached the fair American was only too evident; but though considerably annoyed, he could not help feeling at the same time flattered to see the concern he was able to inspire.

“My friends!” said he with amorous artfulness.

“Do you mean Count Bunker?  He is ze only friend I have here mit me.”

“The only friend?  Indeed!”

“Zat is since I see you vill not treat me as soch.”

Upon these lines a pretty little passage-of-arms ensued, the Baron employing with considerable effect the various blandishments of which he was admitted a past master; the heiress modifying her resentment by degrees under their insidious influence.  Still she would not entirely quit her troublesome position, till at last a happy inspiration came to reinforce his assaults.  Why, he reflected, should an entertainment that would require a considerable outlay of money and trouble serve to win the affections of only one girl?  With the same espenditure of ammunition it might be possible to double the bag.