CHAPTER XXII
In the eye of the heiress, as in her father's, might be noted a shade of
surprise at finding two gentlemen instead of one. But though the Count
instantly perceived his superfluity, and though it had been his greatest
ambition throughout his life to add no shade to the dullness with which
he frequently complained that life was overburdened, yet his sense of
obligation to his friend was so strong that he preferred to bore rather
than desert. As the only compensation he could offer, he assumed the
most retiring look of which his mobile features were capable, and
pretended to examine one of the tables of curios.
“Lord Tulliwuddle, I congratulate you on the very happy impression you
have made!” began Eleanor with the most delightful frankness.
But his lordship had learned to fear the Americans, even bearing
compliments.
“So?” he answered stolidly.
“Indeed you have! Ri is just wild about your cleverness.”
“Zat is kind of him.”
“He declares you are quite an authority on European politics. Now you
will be able to tell me----”
“Ach, no! I shall not to-day, please!” interrupted the Baron hurriedly.
The heiress seemed disconcerted.
“Oh, not if you'd rather not, Lord Tulliwuddle.”
“Not to-day.”
“Well!”
She turned with a shrug and cast her eyes upon the wall.
“How do you like this picture? It's my latest toy. I call it just
sweet!”
He cautiously examined the painting.
“It is vary pretty.”
“Do you know Romney's work?”
The Baron shrank back.
“Not again to-day, please!”
Miss Maddison opened her handsome eyes to their widest.
“My word!” she cried. “If these are Highland manners, Lord Tulliwuddle!”
In extreme confusion the Baron stammered--
“I beg your pardon! Forgif me--but--ach, not zose questions, please!”
Relenting a little, she inquired
“What may I ask you, then? Do tell me! You see I want just to know all
about you.”
With an affrighted gesture the Baron turned to his friend.
“Bonker,” said he, “she does vant to know yet more about me! Vill you
please to tell her.”
The Count looked up from the curios with an expression so bland that the
air began to clear even before he spoke.
“Miss Maddison, I must explain that my friend's proud Highland spirit
has been a little disturbed by some inquiries, made in all good faith
by your father. No offence, I am certain, was intended; erroneous
information--a little hastiness in jumping to conclusions--a sensitive
nature wounded by the least insinuation--such were the unfortunate
causes of Tulliwuddle's excusable reticence. Believe me, if you knew
all, your opinion of him would alter very, very considerably!”
The perfectly accurate peroration to this statement produced an
immediate effect.
“What a shame!” cried Eleanor, her eyes sparkling brightly. “Lord
Tulliwuddle, I am so sorry!”
The Baron looked into these eyes, and his own mien altered perceptibly.
For an instant he gazed, and then in a low voice remarked--
“By ze Gad!”
“Once!” counted the conscientious Bunker.
“Lord Tulliwuddle,” she continued, “I declare I feel so ashamed of those
stupid men, I could just wring their necks! Now, just to make us quits,
you ask me anything in the world you like!”
Over his shoulder the Baron threw a stealthy glance at his friend, but
this time he did not invoke his assistance. Instead, he again murmured
very distinctly--
“By ze Gad!”
“Twice!” counted Bunker.
“Miss Maddison,” said the Baron to the flushed and eager girl, “am I
to onderstand zat you now are satisfied zat I am not too vicked, too
suspeecious, too unvorthy of your charming society? I do not say I am
yet vorthy--bot jost not too bad!”
Had the Baroness at that moment heard merely the intonation of his
voice, she would undoubtedly have preferred a Chinese prison.
“Indeed, Lord Tulliwuddle, you may.”
“By ze Gad!” announced the Baron, in a voice braced with resolution.
“May I take the liberty of inspecting the aviary?” said the Count.
“With the very greatest pleasure,” replied the heiress kindly.
His last distinct impression as he withdrew was of the Baron giving his
mustache a more formidable twirl.
“A very pretty little scene,” he reflected, as he strolled out in search
of others. “Though, hang me, I'm not sure if it ended in the right man
leaving the stage!”
This “second-fiddle feeling,” as he styled it humorously to himself,
was further increased by the demeanor of Miss Gallosh, to whom he now
endeavored to make himself agreeable. Though sharing the universal
respect felt for the character and talents of the Count, she was
evidently too perturbed at seeing him appear alone to appreciate his
society as it deserved. Ever since luncheon poor Eva's heart had been
sinking. The beauty, the assurance, the cleverness, and the charm of the
fabulously wealthy American heiress had filled her with vague misgivings
even while the gentlemen were safely absent; but when Miss Maddison was
summoned away, and her father and brother took her place, her uneasiness
vastly increased. Now here was the last buffer removed between the
chieftain and her audacious rival (so she already counted her). What
drama could these mysterious movements have been leading to?
In vain did Count Bunker exercise his unique powers of conversation.
In vain did he discourse on the beauties of nature as displayed in
the wooded valley and the towering hills, and the beauties of art as
exhibited in the aviary and the new fir forest. Eva's thoughts were
too much engrossed with the beauties of woman, and their dreadful
consequences if improperly used.
“Is--is Miss Maddison still in the house?” she inquired, with an effort
to put the question carelessly.
“I believe so,” said the Count in his kindest voice.
“And--and--that isn't Lord Tulliwuddle with my father, is it?”
“I believe not,” said the Count, still more sympathetically.
She could no longer withhold a sigh, and the Count tactfully turned
the conversation to the symbolical eagle arrived that morning from Mr.
Maddison's native State.
They had passed from the aviary to the flower garden, when at last they
saw the Baron and Eleanor appear. She joined the rest of the party,
while he, walking thoughtfully in search of his friend, advanced
in their direction. He raised his eyes, and then, to complete Eva's
concern, he started in evident embarrassment at discovering her there
also. To do him justice, he quickly recovered his usual politeness. Yet
she noticed that he detained the Count beside him and showed a curious
tendency to discourse solely on the fine quality of the gravel and the
advantages of having a brick facing to a garden wall.
“My lord,” said Mr. Gallosh, approaching them, “would you be thinking of
going soon? I've noticed Mr. Maddison's been taking out his watch verra
frequently.”
“Certainly, certainly!” cried my lord. “Oh, ve have finished all ve have
come for.”
Eva started, and even Mr. Gallosh looked a trifle perturbed.
“Yes,” added the Count quickly, “we have a very good idea of the heating
system employed. I quite agree with you: we can leave the rest to your
engineer.”
But even his readiness failed to efface the effects of his friend's
unfortunate admission.
Farewells were said, the procession reformed, the pipers struck up, and
amidst the heartiest expressions of pleasure from all, the chieftain
and his friends marched off to the spot where (out of sight of Lincoln
Lodge) the forethought of their manager had arranged that the carriages
should be waiting.
“Well,” said Bunker, when they found themselves in their room again,
“what do you think of Miss Maddison?”
The Baron lit a cigar, gazed thoughtfully and with evident satisfaction
at the daily deepening shade of tan upon his knees, and then answered
slowly--
“Vell, Bonker, she is not so bad.”
“Ah,” commented Bunker.
“Bot, Bonker, it is not vat I do think of her. Ach, no! It is not for
mein own pleasure. Ach, nein! How shall I do my duty to Tollyvoddle? Zat
is vat I ask myself.”
“And what answer do you generally return?”
“Ze answer I make is,” said the Baron gravely and with the deliberation
the point deserved--“Ze answer is zat I shall vait and gonsider vich
lady is ze best for him.”
“The means you employ will no doubt include a further short personal
interview with each of them?”
“Vun short! Ach, Bonker, I most investigate mit carefulness. No, no; I
most see zem more zan zat.”
“How long do you expect the process will take you?”
For the first time the Baron noticed with surprise a shade of impatience
in his friend's voice.
“Are you in a horry, Bonker?”
“My dear Baron, I grudge no man his sport--particularly if he is careful
to label it his duty. But, to tell the truth, I have never played
gamekeeper for so long before, and I begin to find that picking up your
victims and carrying them after you in a bag is less exhilarating to-day
than it was a week ago. I wouldn't curtail your pleasure for the world,
my dear fellow! But I do ask you to remember the poor keeper.”
“My dear friend,” said the Baron cordially, “I shall remember! It shall
take bot two or tree days to do my duty. I shall not be long.”
“A day or two of sober duty,
Then, Hoch! for London, home, and beauty!”
trolled the Count pleasantly.
The Baron did not echo the “Hoch”; but after retaining his thoughtful
expression for a few moments, a smile stole over his face, and he
remarked in an absent voice--
“Vun does not alvays need to go home to find beauty.”
“Yes,” said the Count, “I have always held it to be one of the
advantages of travel that one learns to tolerate the inhabitants of
other lands.”