“Surely you are mistaken!” cried Miss Gallosh.  “Wasn’t it only excitement at finding himself at Hechnahoul?”

“There’s two kinds of excitement,” answered the oracle.  “And this was the kind I’m best acquaint with.  Oh, but it was just a wee bittie.”

“And who thinks the worse of him for it?” cried Mr. Gallosh.

This question was answered by general acclamation in a manner and with a spirit that proved how deeply his lordship’s gracious behavior had laid hold of all hearts.

CHAPTER XI

Breakfast in the private parlor was laid for two; but it was only Count Bunker, arrayed in a becoming suit of knickerbockers, and looking as fresh as if he had feasted last night on aerated water, who sat down to consume it.

“Who would be his ordinary everyday self when there are fifty more amusing parts to play,” he reflected gaily, as he sipped his coffee.  “Blitzenberg and Essington were two conventional members of society, ageing ingloriously, tamely approaching five-and-thirty in bath-chairs.  Tulliwuddle and Bunker are paladins of romance!  We thought we had grown up—­thank Heaven, we were deceived!”

Having breakfasted and lit a cigarette, he essayed for the second time to arouse the Baron; but getting nothing but the most somnolent responses, he set out for a stroll, visiting the gardens, stables, kennels, and keeper’s house, and even inspecting a likely pool or two upon the river, and making in the course of it several useful acquaintances among the Tulliwuddle retainers.

When he returned he found the Baron stirring a cup of strong tea and staring at an ancestral portrait with a thoughtful frown.

“They are preparing the caber, Baron,” he remarked genially.

“Stoff and nonsense; I vill not fling her!” was the wholly unexpected reply.  “I do not love to play ze fool alvays!”

“My dear Baron!”

“Zat picture,” said the Baron, nodding his head solemnly towards the portrait.  “It is like ze Lord Tollyvoddle in ze print at ze hotel.  I do believe he is ze same.”

“But I explained that he wasn’t Tulliwuddle.”

“He is so like,” repeated the Baron moodily.  “He most be ze same.”

Bunker looked at it and shook his head.

“A different man, I assure you.”

“Oh, ze devil!” replied the Baron.

“What’s the matter?”

“I haff a head zat tvists and turns like my head never did since many years.”

The Count had already surmised as much.

“Hang it out of the window,” he suggested.

The Baron made no reply for some minutes.  Then with an earnest air he began—­

“Bonker, I have somezing to say to you.”

“You have the most sympathetic audience outside the clan.”

The Count’s cheerful tone did not seem to please his friend.

“Your heart, he is too light, Bonker; ja, too light.  Last night you did engourage me not to be seemly.”