ly
embroidered that he had more than once caught the ladies at Hechnahoul
casting affectionate glances upon them.

"A first-class turn-out," he thought. "And what a lucky thing I thought
of borrowing a banjo from young Gallosh! A coon song in the twilight
will break the ground prettily."

By this time they had stopped before the door, and an elderly
man-servant, instead of waiting for the Count, came down the steps to
meet him. In his manner there was something remarkably sheepish and
constrained, and, to the Count's surprise, he thrust forth his hand
almost as if he expected it to be shaken. Bunker, though a trifle
puzzled, promptly handed him the banjo case, remarking pleasantly--

"My banjo; take care of it, please."

The man started so violently that he all but dropped it upon the steps.

"What the deuce did he think I said?" wondered the Count. "'Banjo' can't
have sounded 'dynamite.'"

He entered the house, and found himself in a pleasant hall, where his
momentary uneasiness was at once forgotten in the charming welcome
of his hostess. Not only she, but her chaperon, received him with a
flattering warmth that realized his utmost expectations.

"It was so good of you to come!" cried Miss Wallingford.

"So very kind," murmured Miss Minchell.

"I knew you wouldn't think it too unorthodox!" added Julia.

"I'm afraid orthodoxy is a crime I shall never swing for," said the
Count, with his most charming smile.

"I am sure my father wouldn't REALLY mind," said Julia.

"Not if Sir Justin shared your enthusiasm, dear," added Miss Minchell.

"I must teach him to!"

"Good Lord!" thought the Count. "This is friendly indeed."

A few minutes passed in the exchange of these preliminaries, and then
his hostess said, with a pretty little air of discipleship that both
charmed and slightly puzzled him,

"You do still think that nobody should dine later than six, don't you? I
have ordered dinner for six to-night."

"Six!" exclaimed the Count, but recovering himself, added, "An ideal
hour--and it is half-past five now. Perhaps I had better think of
dressing."

"What YOU call dressing!" smiled Julia, to his justifiable amazement.
"Let me show you to your room."

She led him upstairs, and finally stopped before an open door.

"There!" she said, with an air of pride. "It is really my father's
bedroom when he is at home, but I've had it specially prepared for YOU!
Is it just as you would like?"

Bunker was incapab