A horrible fear lest his namesake might have dined solely upon herbs, and himself be expected to follow his example, was pleasantly dissipated by a glance at the menu; but he confessed to a sinking of his heart when he observed merely a tumbler beside his own plate and a large brown jug before him.

“Good heavens!” he thought, “do they imagine an Austrian count is necessarily a beer drinker?”

With a sigh he could not quite smother, he began to pour the contents into his glass, and then set it down abruptly, emitting a startled exclamation.

“What is the matter?” cried Julia sympathetically.

Her eyes (he was embarrassed to note) followed his every movement like a dog’s, and her apprehension clearly was extreme.

“This seems to be water,” smiled the Count, with an effort to carry off their error as pleasantly for them as possible.

“Isn’t it good water?” asked Julia with an air of concern.

It was the Count’s turn to open his eyes.

“You have concluded then that I am a teetotaler?”

“Of course, we know you are!”

“If we may judge by your prefaces,” smiled Miss
Minchell.

The Count began to realize the hazards that beset him; but his spirit stoutly rose to meet the shock of the occasion.

“There is no use in attempting to conceal my idiosyncrasies, I see,” he answered.  “But to-night, will you forgive me if I break through the cardinal rule of my life and ask you for a little stimulant?  My doctor——­”

“I see!” cried Miss Wallingford compassionately.  “Of course, one can’t dispute a doctor’s orders.  What would you like?”

“Oh, anything you have.  He did recommend champagne—­ if it was good; but anything will do.”

“A bottle of the very best champagne, Mackenzie!”

The dinner now became an entirely satisfactory meal.  Inspired by his champagne and by the success of his audacity in so easily surmounting all difficulties, the Count delighted his hostesses by the vivacity and originality of his conversation.  On the one hand, he chose topics not too flippant in themselves and treated them with a becomingly serious air; on the other, he carefully steered the talk away from the neighborhood of his uncle.

“By the time I fetch out my banjo they’ll have forgotten all about him,” he said to himself complacently.

Knowing well the importance of the individual factor in all the contingencies of life, he set himself, in the meanwhile, to study with some attention the two ladies beside him.  Miss Minchell he had already summarized as an agreeable nonentity, and this impression was only confirmed on better acquaintance.  It was quite evident, he perceived, that she was dragged practically unresisting in Miss Wallingford’s wake—­even to the length of abetting the visit of an unknown bachelor in the absence of Miss Wallingford’s parent.