This reticence, however, was easily cajoled away by the insidious Count, and at last Mr. Gallosh frankly confided to him—­

“Well, Count, between you and me he seems to have had a kind of fancy for my daughter Eva, and then his lordship coming—­well, you’ll see for yourself how it was.”

“He considered his chances lessened?”

“He told Rentoul they were clean gone.”

Count Bunker looked decidedly serious.

“The devil!” he reflected.  “The Baron is exceeding his commission.  Tulliwuddle is a brisk young fellow, but to commit him to two marriages is neither Christian nor kind.  And, without possessing the Baron’s remarkable enthusiasm for the sex, I feel sorry for whichever lady is not chosen to cut the cake.”

He inquired for his friend, and was somewhat relieved to learn that though he had gone out on the loch with Miss Gallosh, they had been accompanied by her brothers and sisters.

“We still have half an hour before dressing,” he said.  “I shall stroll down and meet them.”

His creditable anxiety returned when, upon the path to the loch shore, he met the two Masters and the two younger Misses Gallosh returning without their sister.

“Been in different boats, have you?” said he, after they had explained this curious circumstance; “well, I hope you all had a good sail.”

To himself he uttered a less philosophical comment, and quickened his stride perceptibly.  He reached the shore, but far or near was never a sign of boat upon the waters.

“Have they gone down!” he thought.

Just then he became aware of a sound arising from beneath the wooded bank a short distance away.  It was evidently intended to be muffled, but the Baron’s lungs were powerful, and there was no mistaking his deep voice as he sang—­

          " ’My loff she’s like a red, red rose
               Zat’s newly sprong in June! 
          My loff she’s like a melody
               Zat’s sveetly blayed in tune!

Ach, how does he end?”

Before his charmer had time to prompt him, the Count raised his own tolerably musical voice and replied—­

          " ’And fare thee weel, my second string! 
               And fare thee weel awhile! 
          I won t come back again, my love,
               For tis ower mony mile!

For an instant there followed a profound silence, and then the voice of the Baron replied, with somewhat forced mirth—­

“Vary goot, Bonker!  Ha, ha!  Vary goot!”

Meanwhile Bunker, without further delay, was pushing his way through a tangle of shrubbery till in a moment he spied the boat moored beneath the leafy bank, and although it was a capacious craft he observed that its two occupants were both crowded into one end.

“I am sent to escort you back to dinner,” he said blandly.

“Tell zem ve shall be back in three minutes,” replied the Baron, making a prodigious show of preparation for coming ashore.