As the plenipotentiary approached the Castle he was somewhat surprised to pass a dog-cart containing not only his fellow-guest, Mr. Cromarty-Gow, but Mr. Gow's luggage also, and although he had hitherto taken no particular interest in that gentleman, yet being gifted with the true adventurer's instinct for promptly investigating any unusual circumstance, he sought his host as soon as he reached the house, with a view to putting a careless question or two. For no one, he felt sure, had been expected to leave for a few days to come.
“Yes,” said Mr. Gallosh, “the young spark's off verra suddenly. We didn't expect him to be leaving before Tuesday. But—well, the fact is—umh'm—oh, it's nothing to speak off.”
This reticence, however, was easily cajoled away by the insidious Count, and at last Mr. Gallosh frankly confided to him—
“Well, Count, between you and me he seems to have had a kind of fancy for my daughter Eva, and then his lordship coming—well, you'll see for yourself how it was.”
“He considered his chances lessened?”
“He told Rentoul they were clean gone.”
Count Bunker looked decidedly serious.
“The devil!” he reflected. “The Baron is exceeding his commission. Tulliwuddle is a brisk young fellow, but to commit him to two marriages is neither Christian nor kind. And, without possessing the Baron's remarkable enthusiasm for the sex, I feel sorry for whichever lady is not chosen to cut the cake.”
He inquired for his friend, and was somewhat relieved to learn that though he had gone out on the loch with Miss Gallosh, they had been accompanied by her brothers and sisters.
“We still have half an hour before dressing,” he said. “I shall stroll down and meet them.”
His creditable anxiety returned when, upon the path to the loch shore, he met the two Masters and the two younger Misses Gallosh returning without their sister.
“Been in different boats, have you?” said he, after they had explained this curious circumstance; “well, I hope you all had a good sail.”
To himself he uttered a less philosophical comment, and quickened his stride perceptibly. He reached the shore, but far or near was never a sign of boat upon the waters.
“Have they gone down!” he thought.
Just then he became aware of a sound arising from beneath the wooded bank a short distance away. It was evidently intended to be muffled, but the Baron's lungs were powerful, and there was no mistaking his deep voice as he sang—
“'My loff she's like a red, red rose
Zat's newly sprong in June!
My loff she's like a melody
Zat's sveetly blayed in tune!
Ach, how does he end?”
Before his charmer had time to prompt him, the Count raised his own tolerably musical voice and replied—
“'And fare thee weel, my second string!
And fare thee weel awhile!
I won t come back again, my love,
For tis ower mony mile!
For an instant there followed a profound silence, and then the voice of the Baron replied, with somewhat forced mirth—
“Vary goot, Bonker! Ha, ha! Vary goot!”
Meanwhile Bunker, without further delay, was pushing his way through a tangle of shrubbery till in a moment he spied the boat moored beneath the leafy bank, and although it was a capacious craft he observed that its two occupants were both crowded into one end.
“I am sent to escort you back to dinner,” he said blandly.
“Tell zem ve shall be back in three minutes,” replied the Baron, making a prodigious show of preparation for coming ashore.
“I am sorry to say that my orders were strictly to escort, not to herald you,” said the Count apologetically.
Fortifying himself against unpopularity by the consciousness that he was doing his duty, this well-principled, even if spurious, nobleman paced back towards the house with the lady between him and the indignant Baron.
“Well, Tulliwuddle,” he discoursed, in as friendly a tone as ever, “I left your cards with our American neighbors.”
“So?” muttered the Baron stolidly.
“They received me with open arms, and I have taken the liberty of accepting on behalf of Mr., Mrs., and Miss Gallosh, and of our two selves, a very cordial invitation to lunch with them to-morrow.”
“Impossible!” cried the Baron gruffly.
Eva turned a reproachful eye upon him.
“Oh, Lord Tulliwuddle! I should so like to go.”
The Baron looked at her blankly.
“You vould!”
“I have heard they are such nice people, and have such a beautiful place!”
“I can confirm both statements,” said the Count heartily.
“Besides, papa and mamma would be very disappointed if we didn't go.”
“Make it as you please,” said the Baron gloomily.
His unsuspicious hosts heard of the invitation with such outspoken pleasure that their honored guest could not well renew his protest. He had to suffer the arrangement to be made; but that night when he and Bunker withdrew to their own room, the Count perceived the makings of an argumentative evening.
“Sometimes you interfere too moch,” the Baron began without preamble.
“Do you mind being a little more specific?” replied the Count with smiling composure.
“Zere vas no hurry to lonch mit Maddison.”
“I didn't name the date.”
“You might have said next veek.”
“By next week Miss Maddison may be snapped up by some one else.”
“Zen vould Tollyvoddle be more lucky! I have nearly got for him ze most charming girl, mit as moch money as he vants. Ach, you do interfere! You should gonsider ze happiness of Tollyvoddle.”
“That is the only consideration that affects yourself, Baron?”
“Of course! I cannot marry more zan vonce.” (Bunker thought he perceived a symptom of a sigh.) “And I most be faithful to Alicia. I most! Ach, yes, Bonker, do not fear for me! I am so constant as—ach, I most keep faithful!”
As he supplied this remarkable testimony to his own fidelity, the Baron paced the floor with an agitation that clearly showed how firmly his constancy was based.
Nevertheless the Count was smiling oddly at something he espied upon the mantelpiece, and stepping up to it he observed—
“Here is a singular phenomenon—a bunch of white heather that has got itself tied together with ribbon!”
The Baron started, and took the tiny bouquet from his hand, his eyes sparkling with delight.
“It must be a gift from——” he began, and then laid it down again, though his gaze continued fixed upon it. “How did it gom in?” he mused. “Ach! she most have brought it herself. How vary nice!”
He turned suddenly and met his friend's humorous eyes.
“I shall be faithful, Bonker! You can trust me!” he exclaimed; “I shall put it in my letter to Alicia, and send it mit my love! See, Bonker!”
He took a letter from his desk—its envelope still open—hurriedly slipped in the white heather, and licked the gum while his resolution was hot. Then, having exhibited this somewhat singular evidence of his constancy, he sighed again.
“It vas ze only safe vay,” he said dolefully. “Vas I not right, Bonker?”
“Quite, my dear Baron,” replied the Count sympathetically. “Believe me, I appreciate your self-sacrifice. In fact, it was to relieve the strain upon your too generous heart that I immediately accepted Mr. Maddison's invitation for to-morrow.”
“How so?” demanded the Baron with perhaps excusable surprise.
“You will be able to decide at once which is the most suitable bride for Tulliwuddle, and then, if you like, we can leave in a day or two.”
“Bot I do not vish to leave so soon!”
“Well then, while you stay, you can at least make sure that you are engaging the affections of the right girl.”
Though Bunker spoke with an air of desiring merely to assist his friend, the speech seemed to arouse some furious thinking in the Baron's mind.
For some moments he made no reply, and then at last, in a troubled voice, he said—
“I have already a leetle gommitted Tollyvoddle to Eva. Ach, bot not moch! Still it vas a leetle. Miss Maddison—vat is she like?”
To the best of his ability the Count sketched the charms of Eleanor Maddison—her enthusiasm for large and manly noblemen, and the probable effects of the Baron's stalwart form set off by the tartan which (in deference, he declared, to the Wraith's injunctions) he now invariably wore. Also, he touched upon her father's colossal fortune, and the genuine Tulliwuddle's necessities.
The Baron listened with growing interest.
“Vell,” he said, “I soppose I most make a goot impression for ze sake of Tollyvoddle. For instance, ven we drive up——”
“Drive? my dear Baron, we shall march! Leave it to me; I have a very pretty design shaping in my head.”
“Aha!” smiled the Baron; “my showman again, eh?”
His expression sobered, and he added as a final contribution to the debate—
“But I may tell you, Bonker, I do not eggspect to like Miss Maddison. Ah, my instinct he is vonderful! It vas my instinct vich said. 'Chose Miss Gallosh for Tollyvoddle!'”
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