But his expostulations produced no effect.  It seemed queer to me—­her sister—­that he should waste his breath.  But Jimmie was obliged to relieve his mind by saying that it looked too pronounced.

“It’s all right for an Austrian,” said Jimmie, wagging his head.  “But everybody knows you are an American, and it doesn’t look right.”

“Doesn’t it go with my costume, Jimmie?” demanded Bee.  “Look me over!  Doesn’t it match?”

Alas for Jimmie!  It did match.  Bee’s carrying it simply looked saucy, not loud.  I couldn’t have carried it—­I should have tripped over it, and fallen down.  Mrs. Jimmie would have dropped or broken it.  Bee and that stick simply fitted each other—­there in Ischl!  Nowhere else.

At luncheon, just as we were going out, the four officers came in.  We passed them in the doorway.  Bee looked desperate.  They lined up to allow us to pass, and for a moment I thought Bee was going to snatch one, and make her escape.  But she compromised, on seeing them seat themselves at the table we had just left, by sending Jimmie back to look for her handkerchief.

“If that doesn’t fetch an acquaintance,” Bee’s look seemed to say, “with Jimmie burrowing around on the floor among their boots and spurs, I shall have but a poor opinion of Austrian ingenuity.”

Jimmie was gone half an hour.  When he came back, his face was too innocent.  He seated himself quietly, and after saying, “It wasn’t there, Bee,” he went on smoking placidly.

Now, any one who knows anything about anything, cannot fail to admit that my sister ought either to be at the head of Tammany Hall or the army.  She gave one look at Jimmie’s suspiciously bland countenance, then gathered up her gloves, her veil and stick, and went slowly up-stairs, apparently in a brown study.

Jimmie is clever, but he is no match for a clever woman.  No man is, for that matter.

The moment she was out of sight, he began to chuckle.

“Great Scott,” he whispered, bringing our three heads together by a gesture.  “If Bee knew that all those officers we just passed went right in, and sat down at the very table we left, so that when she sent me for her handkerchief I had to run bang into them, I wonder if she would have gone up-stairs so calmly!”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” I cried.

“I was going to—­after I had got her curiosity up a little.  They were very polite, and nothing would do but I must sit down, and have a glass of beer with them.  I didn’t want that, so I took a cigar, and they all nearly fell over themselves to offer me one—­from the most beautiful cigar cases you ever saw.  That tall chap with the eyes had one of gold, with the Tzar’s face done in enamel, surmounted by the imperial crown in diamonds, and an inscription on the inside showing that the Tzar gave it to him.  I took one out of that case for Bee’s sake.  I’ll save her the stub!”