hint of this opinion than their affectionate
protestations had quickly revived his spirit; but now that they were no
longer with him to counsel and encourage, it once more drooped.

"Confound it!" he thought, "I hadn't bargained on having to keep out
of people's way till they came back. If Essington had mentioned that
sooner, I don't know that I'd have been so keen about the notion. Hang
it! I'll have to chuck the Morrells' dance. And I can't go with the
Greys to Ranelagh. I can't even dine with my own aunt on Sunday. Oh, the
devil!"

The perturbed young peer waved his umbrella and climbed into a hansom.

"Well, anyhow, I can still go on seeing Connie. That's some
consolation," he told himself; and without stopping to consider what
would be the thoughts of his two obliging friends had they known he was
seeking consolation in the society of one lady while they were arranging
his nuptials with another, the baptismal Tulliwuddle drove back to the
civilization of St. James's.

Within the reserved compartment was no foreboding, no faint-hearted
paling of the cheek. As the train clattered, hummed, and presently
thundered on its way, the two laughed cheerfully towards one another,
delighted beyond measure with the prosperous beginning of their
enterprise. The Baron could not sufficiently express his gratitude and
admiration for the promptitude with which his friend had purveyed so
promising an adventure.

"Ve vill have fon, my Bonker. Ach! ve vill," he exclaimed for the third
or fourth time within a dozen miles from Euston.

His Bunker assumed an air half affectionate, half apologetic.

"I only regret that I should have the lion's share of the adventure, my
dear Baron."

"Yes," said the Baron, with a symptom of a sigh, "I do envy you indeed.
Yet I should not say zat----" Bunker swiftly interrupted him.

"You would like to play a worthier part than merely his lordship's
friend?"

"Ach! if I could."

Bunker smiled benignantly.

"Ah, Baron, you cannot suppose that I would really do Tulliwuddle such
injustice as to attempt, in my own feeble manner, to impersonate him?"

The Baron stared.

"Vat mean you?"

"YOU shall be the lion, _I_ the humble necessary jackal. As our friend
so aptly quoted, noblesse oblige. Of course, there can be no doubt about
it. You, Baron, must play the part of peer, I of friend."

The Baron gasped.

"Impossible!"

"Quite simple, my dear fellow."

"You--you don't mean so?"

"I do