“I!”

“I did get almost dronk.  If my head vas not so hard I should be dronk.  Das ist not right.  If I am to be ze Tollyvoddle, it most be as I vould be Von Blitzenberg.  I most not forget zat I am not as ozzer men.  I am noble, and most be so accordingly.”

“What steps do you propose to take?” inquired Bunker with perfect gravity.

The Baron stared at the picture.

“Last night I had a dream.  It vas zat man—­at least, probably it vas, for I cannot remember eggsactly.  He did pursue me mit a kilt.”

“With what did you defend yourself?”

“I know not:  I jost remember zat it should be a warning.  Ve Blitzenbergs 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.