“My father is away from home, and the world dictates prudence; but I know your views on conventionality are those I too have learned to share, so will you come and see me before you leave Scotland?

“With kindest regards and in great haste because I want you to get this to-morrow morning.  Believe me, yours very sincerely,
                         “Julia Wallingford.”

“P.S.—­If it would upset your arrangements to come only for the day, Miss Minchell agrees with me that we could easily put you up.—­J.  W.”

“By Jingo!” mused the Count, “that’s what I call a sporting offer.  Her father away from home, and Count Bunker understanding better than she can explain!  Gad, it’s my duty to go!”

But besides the engaging cordiality of Miss Wallingford’s invitation, there was something about the letter that puzzled almost as much as it cheered him.

“She prizes the name of Bunker, does she?  Never struck me it was very ornamental; and in any case the compliment seems a trifle stretched.  But, hang it! this is looking a gift-horse in the mouth.  Such ardor deserves to be embraced, not dissected.”

He swiftly debated how best to gratify the lady.  Last night it had been his own counsel, and likewise the Baron’s desire, to leave by the night mail that very evening, with their laurels still unfaded and blessings heaped upon their heads.  Why not make his next stage The Lash?

“Hang it, the Baron has had such a good innings that he can scarcely grudge me a short knock,” he said to himself.  “He can wait for me at Perth or somewhere.”

And, ringing the bell, he wrote and promptly despatched this brief telegram: 

“Delighted.  Shall spend to-night in passing.  Bunker.”

Hardly was this point settled when the footman re-entered to inform him that Mr. Maddison’s motor car was at the door waiting to convey him without delay to Lincoln Lodge.  Accompanying this announcement came the Silver King’s card bearing the words, “Please come and see me at once.”

The Count stroked his chin, and lit a cigarette.

“There is something fresh in the wind,” thought he.

In the course of his forty-miles-an-hour rush through the odors of pine woods, he had time to come to a pretty correct conclusion regarding the business before him, and was thus enabled to adopt the mien most suitable to the contingency when he found himself ushered into the presence of the millionaire and his son.  The set look upon their faces, the ceremonious manner of their greeting, and the low buzzing of the phonograph, audible above the tinkle of a musical box ingeniously intended to drown it, confirmed his guess even before a word had passed.

“Be seated, Count,” said the Silver King; and the Count sat.

“Now, sir,” he continued, “I have sent for you, owing, sir, to the high opinion I have formed of your intelligence and business capabilities.”