ozzer" (laying his hand on his heart) "is ze Lady Alicia a
Fyre."

There are some people who catch sentiment whenever it happens to be in the
air, just as others almost equally unfortunate regularly take hay-fever.

Lady Alicia's reply was much softer than she intended, especially as she
could have told anybody that the Baron's compliment was the merest figure
of speech.

"You needn't have included me: I'm sure _I'm_ not a great attraction."

"Ze sea is less, so zat leaves none," the Baron smiled.

"Didn't you see anybody--I mean, anything in London that attracted you--that
you liked?"

"Zat I liked, yes, zat pairhaps for the moment attracted me; but not zat
shall still attract me ven I am gone avay."

The Baron sighed this time, and she felt impelled to reply, with the most
sisterly kindness, "I--we should, of course, like to think that you didn't
forget us _altogether_."

"You need not fear."

Then Lady Alicia began to realise that this was more like a second cousin
than a brother, and with sudden sprightliness she cried, "I wonder where
that steamer's going!"

The Baron turned his eyes towards his first-named attraction, but for a
professed lover of the ocean his interest appeared slight. He only replied
absently, "Ach, zo?"

A little way behind them walked Mr Bunker and the Countess. The attention
of Lady Grillyer was divided between the agreeable conversation of her
companion and the pleasant spectacle of a fabulous number of pfennigs
a-year bending its titled head over her daughter. In the middle of one of
Mr Bunker's most amusing stories she could not forbear interrupting with a
complacent "they _do_ make a very handsome couple!"

Mr Bunker politely stopped his narrative, and looked critically from his
friend's gaily checked back to Lady Alicia's trim figure.

"Pray go on with your story, Mr Bunker," said the Countess, hastily,
realising that she had thought a little too loudly.

"They are like," responded Mr Bunker, replying to her first remark--"they
are like a pair of gloves."

The Countess raised her brows and looked at him sharply.

"I mean, of course, the best quality."

"I think," said the Countess, suspiciously, "that you spoke a little
carelessly."

"My simile was a little premature?"

"I think so," said the Countess, decisively.

"Let us call them then an odd pair," smiled Mr Bunker, unruffled; "and
only hope that they'll turn out to be the same size and different hands."

Th