y don't like me, though why
they don't I can't see; for I'm as good as any body, and I've been
particular about being civil to all of them. Still they don't like me,
and they see that Minnie does, and they're trying to break up the
engagement. But by the living jingo!" and the Baron clinched a
good-sized and very sinewy fist, which he brought down hard on the
table--"by the living jingo, they'll find they can't come it over
_me_! No, _Sir_!"

"Is she fond of you--Miss Fay, I mean?"

"Fond! Course she is. She dotes on me."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure! As sure as I am of my own existence. Why, the way she looks at
me is enough! She has a look of helpless trust, an innocent
confidence, a tender, child-like faith and love, and a beseeching,
pleading, imploring way that tells me she is mine through and
through."

Hawbury was a little surprised. He thought he had heard something like
that before.

"Oh, well," said he, "that's the chief thing, you know. If you're sure
of the girl's affections, the battle's half won."

"Half won! Ain't it all won?"

"Well, not exactly. You see, with us English, there are ever so many
considerations."

"But with us Americans there is only one consideration, and that is,
Do you love me? Still, if her relatives are particular about dollars,
I can foot up as many thousands as her old man, I dare say; and then,
if they care for rank, why, I'm a Baron!"

"And what's more, old boy," said Hawbury, earnestly, "if they wanted a
valiant, stout, true, honest, loyal soul, they needn't go further than
Rufus K. Gunn, Baron de Atramonte."

The Baron's face flushed.

"Hawbury," said he, "that's good in you. We've tried one another,
haven't we? You're a brick! And I don't need _you_ to tell _me_ what
you think of me. But if you could get a word into the ear of that
cantankerous old lady, and just let her know what _you_ know about me,
it might move her. You see you're after her style, and I'm not; and
she can't see any thing but a man's manner, which, after all, varies
in all countries. Now if you could speak a word for me, Hawbury--"

"By Jove! my dear fellow, I'd be glad to do so--I swear I would; but
you don't appear to know that I won't have the chance. They're all
going to leave Rome to-morrow morning."

The Baron started as though he had been shot.

"What!" he cried, hoarsely. "What's that? Leave Rome?"

"Yes."

"And to-morrow morning?"

"Yes; Miss Fay told me herself--"

"Miss Fay