“I understand the allusion now,” thought Bunker.

Aloud he had the presence of mind to inquire—­

“Which was it?”

" ‘Existence Seriously Reviewed.’ "

“You couldn’t have made a better choice,” he assured her.

“And now, what can you tell me about him?” she cried.

“Suppose we talk about the book instead,” suggested Bunker, choosing what seemed the lesser of two evils.

“Oh, do!”

She rose impetuously, brought with a reverent air a beautifully written and neatly tied-up manuscript, and sat again by his knee.  Looking over his shoulder he could see that the chaperon was wide awake and prepared to listen rapturously also.

“I have so often longed to have some one with me who could explain things—­the very deep things, you know.  But to think of having you—­the Editor and nephew!  It’s too good to be true.”

“Only eight o’clock,” he said to himself, glancing at the clock.  “I’m in for a night of it.”

The vision of a game of bridge and a coon song on the banjo from that moment faded quite away, and the Count even tucked his feet as far out of sight as possible, since those entrancing socks served to remind him too poignantly of what might have been.

“What exactly did he mean by this?” began Julia, " ’Let Potentates fear!  Let Dives tremble!  The horny hand of the poor Man in the Street is stretched forth to grasp his birthright!’ "

“For ‘birthright’ read ‘pocket-book.’  There’s a mistake in the translation,” he answered promptly.  “It appears to be an indirect argument for an increase in the Metropolitan police.”

“Are you sure?  I thought—­surely it alludes to Socialism!”

“Of course; and the best advertisement for Socialism is a collision with the bobbies.  My uncle was a remarkably subtle man, I assure you.”

“How very ingenious!” exclaimed Miss Minchell from the background.

Julia did her best to feel convinced; but it was in a distinctly less ecstatic voice that she read her next extract.

" ’Alcohol, riches, and starched linen are the moths and worms of society.’  I suppose he means that they eat away its foundations?”

“On the contrary, he was an enthusiastic entomologist.  He merely meant to imply that it isn’t every one who can appreciate a glass of port and a clean shirt.”

“But he didn’t appreciate those things himself!”

“No; poor fellow.  He often wished he could, though.”

“Did he really?”

“Oh, you’ve no idea how tired he grew of flannel and ginger-beer!  Many a time he’s said to me, ’My boy, learn to take what’s set before you, even at an alderman’s table.’  Ah, his was a generous creed, Miss Wallingford!”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” said Julia submissively.

His advantage in being able to claim an intimate personal knowledge of the late philosopher’s tastes encouraged the Count greatly.  Realizing that a nephew could not well be contradicted, he was emboldened to ask whether there were any more points on which his authority could be of assistance.