For which moral reflection the historian feels it incumbent upon him, as a philosopher and serious psychologist, to express his conscientious admiration.

EPILOGUE

It was an evening in early August, luminous and warm; the scene, a certain club now emptied of all but a sprinkling of its members; the festival, dinner; and the persons of the play, that gentleman lately known as Count Bunker and his friend the Baron von Blitzenberg.  The Count was habited in tweeds; the Baron in evening dress.

“It vas good of you to come up to town jost to see me,” said the Baron.

“I’d have crossed Europe, Baron!”

The Baron smiled faintly.  Evidently he was scarcely in his most florid humor.

“I vish I could have asked you to my club, Bonker.”

“Are you dissatisfied with mine?”

“Oh, no, no!  But——­ vell, ze fact is, it vould be reported by some one if I took you to ze Regents.  Bonker, she does have me watched!”

“The Baroness?”

“Her mozzer.”

“The deuce, Baron!”

The diplomatist gloomily sipped his wine.

“You did hush it all up, eh?” he inquired presently.

“Completely.”

“Zank you.  I vas so afraid of some scandal!”

“So were they; that’s where I had ’em.”

“Did zey write in moch anger?”

“No—­not very much; rather nice letters, in fact.”

The Baron began to cheer up.

“Ach, so!  Vas zere any news of—­ze Galloshes?”

“Yes, they seem very well.  Old Rentoul has caught a salmon.  Gallosh hopes to get a fair bag——­”

“Bot did zey say nozing about—­about Miss Eva?”

“The letter was written by her, you see.”

“She wrote to you!  Strange!”

“Very odd, isn’t it?”

The Baron meditated for a minute and then inquired—­

“Vat of ze Maddisons?”

“Well, I gather that Mr. Maddison is erecting an ibis house in connection with the aviary.  Ri has gone to Kamchatka, but hopes to be back by the 12th——­”

“And Eleanor—­no vord of her?”

“It was she who wrote, don’t you know.”

“Eleanor—­and also to you!  Bot vy should she?”

“Can’t imagine; can you?”

The Baron shook his head solemnly.  “No, Bonker, I cannot.”

For some moments he pondered over the remarkable conduct of these ladies; and then—­

“Did you also hear of ze Wallingfords?” he asked.

“I had a short note from them.”

“From him, or——­”

“Her.”

“So!  Humph, zey all seem fond of writing letters.”

“Why—­have you had any too?”

“No; and I do not vant zem.”

Yet his immunity did not appear to exhilarate the diplomatist.

“Another bottle of the same,” said Bunker aside to the waiter.