have ze gift to dream."

The Baron rose from the table and lit a cigar. After three puffs he
threw it from him.

"I cannot smoke," he said dismally. "It has a onpleasant taste."

The Count assumed a seriously thoughtful air.

"No doubt you will wish to see Miss Maddison as soon as possible and get
it over," he began. "I have just learned that their place is about seven
miles away. We could borrow a trap this afternoon----"

"Nein, nein!" interrupted the Baron. "Donnerwetter! Ach, no, it most not
be so soon. I most practise a leetle first. Not so immediately, Bonker."

Bunker looked at him with a glance of unfathomable calm.

"I find that it will be necessary for you to observe one or two ancient
ceremonies, associated from time immemorial with the accession of a
Tulliwuddle. You are prepared for the ordeal?"

"I most do my duty, Bonker."

"This suggests some more inspiring vision than the gentleman in the gold
frame," thought the Count acutely.

Aloud he remarked

"You have high ideals, Baron."

"I hope so."

Again the Baron was the unconscious object of a humorous, perspicacious
scrutiny.

"Last night I did hear zat moch was to be expected from me," he observed
at length.

"From Mrs. Gallosh?"

"I do not zink it vas from Mrs. Gallosh."

Count Bunker smiled.

"You inflamed all hearts last night," said he.

The Baron looked grave.

"I did drink too moch last night. But I did not say vat I should not,
eh? I vas not rude or gross to--Mistair Gallosh?"

"Not to Mr. Gallosh."

The Baron looked a trifle perturbed at the gravity of his tone.

"I vas not too free, too undignified in presence of zat innocent and
charming lady--Miss Gallosh?"

The air of scrutiny passed from Count Bunker's face, and a droll smile
came instead.

"Baron, I understand your ideals and I appreciate your motives. As you
suggest, you had better rehearse your part quietly for a few days. Miss
Maddison will find you the more perfect suitor."

The Baron looked as though he knew not whether to feel satisfied or not.

"By the way," said the Count in a moment, "have you written to the
Baroness yet? Pardon me for reminding you, but you must remember that
your letters will have to go out to Russia and back."

The Baron started.

"Teufel!" he exclaimed. "I most indeed write."

"The post goes at twelve."

The Baron reflected gloomily, and then slowly moved to the writing-table
and toyed with his pen. A few minutes passe