eemed wiser to Lady Alicia to change the subject.

"Who is the friend you are staying with?" she asked, suddenly.

"My old friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, and your own most recent
admirer," he replied. "I am at present living with, in fact I may say
upon, him."

"Does he know?"

"If you meet him, you had perhaps better not inquire into my past
history."

"I meant, does he know about--about your knowing me?"

"Bless them!" thought Mr Bunker; "one forgets they're not _always_
thinking about us!"

"My noble friend has no idea that I have been so fortunate," he replied.

Lady Alicia looked relieved. "Who is he?" she asked.

"A German nobleman of great wealth, long descent, and the most
accommodating disposition. He is at present exploring England under my
guidance, and I flatter myself that he has already seen and done a number
of things that are not on most programmes."

Lady Alicia was silent for a minute. Then she said with a little
hesitation, "Didn't you get a letter from me?"

"A letter? No," he replied, in some surprise.

"I wrote twice--because you asked me to, and I thought--I wondered if you
were safe."

"To what address did you write?"

"The address you gave me."

"And what was that?" he asked, still evidently puzzled.

"You said care of the Archbishop of York would find you."

Mr Bunker abruptly looked the other way.

"By Jove!" he said, as if lost in speculation, "I must find out what the
matter was. I can't imagine why they haven't been forwarded."

Lady Alicia appeared a little dissatisfied.

"Was that a _real_ address?" she asked, suddenly.

"Perfectly," he replied; "as real as Pentonville Jail or the House of
Commons." ("And as likely to find me," he added to himself.)

Lady Alicia seemed to hesitate whether to pursue the subject further, but
in the middle of her debate Mr Bunker asked, "By the way, has Lady
Grillyer any recollection of having seen me before?"

"No, she doesn't remember you at all."

"Then we shall meet as strangers?"

"Yes, I think it would be better; don't you?"

"It will save our imaginations certainly."

Lady Alicia looked at him as though she expected something more; but as
nothing came, she said, "I think it's time I went back."

"For the present then _au revoir_, my dear Alicia. I beg your pardon, Lady
Alicia; it was that rascal Beveridge who made the slip. It now remains to
make your formal acquaintance."

"You--you mustn't try!"

"Th