Raising his eyes after the profound bow which the Count considered appropriate to his character of plenipotentiary, he beheld at last the object of his mission; and whether or not she was the absolutely peerless beauty her father had vaunted, he at once decided that she was lovely enough to grace Hechnahoul, or any other, Castle. Black eyes and a mass of coal-black hair, an ivory pale skin, small well-chiselled features, and that distinctively American plumpness of contour—these marked her face; while as for her figure, it was the envy of her women friends and the distraction of all mankind who saw her.

“Fortunate Baron!” thought Bunker.

Beside her, though sufficiently in the rear to mark the relative position of the sexes in the society they adorned, stood Darius P. Maddison, junior—or “Ri,” in the phrase of his relatives and friends—a broad-shouldered, well-featured young man, with keen eyes, a mouth compressed with the stern resolve to die richer than Mr. Rockefeller, and a pair of perfectly ironed trousers.

“I am very delighted to meet you,” declared the heiress.

“Very honored to have this pleasure,” said the brother.

“While I enjoy both sensations,” replied the Count, with his most agreeable smile.

A little preliminary conversation ensued, in the course of which the two parties felt an increasing satisfaction in one another's society; while Bunker had the further pleasure of enjoying a survey of the room in which they sat. Evidently it was Miss Maddison's peculiar sanctum, and it revealed at once her taste and her power of gratifying it. The tapestry that covered two sides of the room could be seen at a glance to be no mere modern imitation, but a priceless relic of the earlier middle ages. The other walls were so thickly hung with pictures that one could scarcely see the pale-green satin beneath; and among these paintings the Count's educated eye recognized the work of Raphael, Botticelli, Turner, and Gainsborough among other masters; while beneath the cornice hung a well-chosen selection from the gems of the modern Anglo-American school. The chairs and sofa were upholstered in a figured satin of a slightly richer hue of green, and on several priceless oriental tables lay displayed in ivory, silver, crystal, and alabaster more articles of vertu than were to be found in the entire house of an average collector.

“Fortunate Tulliwuddle!” thought Bunker.

They had been conversing on general topics for a few minutes, when Miss Maddison turned to her brother and said, with a frankness that both pleased and entertained the Count—

“Ri, dear, don't you think we had better come right straight to the point? I feel sure Count Bunker is only waiting till he knows us a little better, and I guess it will save him considerable embarrassment if we begin.”

“You are the best judge, Eleanor. I guess your notions are never far of being all right.”

With a gratified smile Eleanor addressed the Count.

“My brother and I are affinities,” she said. “You can speak to him just as openly as you can to me. What is fit for me to hear is fit for him.”

Assuring her that he would not hesitate to act upon this guarantee if necessary, the Count nevertheless diplomatically suggested that he would sooner leave it to the lady to open the discussion.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose we may presume you have called here as Lord Tulliwuddle's friend?”

“You may, Miss Maddison.”

“And no doubt he has something pretty definite to suggest?”

“Matrimony,” smiled the Count.

Her brother threw him a stern smile of approval.

“That's right slick THERE!” he exclaimed.

“Lord Tulliwuddle has made a very happy selection in his ambassador,” said Eleanor, with equal cordiality. “People who are afraid to come to facts tire me. No doubt you will think it strange and forward of me to talk in this spirit, Count, but if you'd had to go through the worry of being an American heiress in a European state you would sympathize. Why, I'm hardly ever left in peace for twenty-four hours—am I, Ri?”

“That is so,” quoth Ri.

“What would you guess my age to be, Count Bunker?”

“Twenty-one,” suggested Bunker, subtracting two or three years on general principles.

“Well, you're nearer it than most people. Nineteen on my last birthday, Count!”

The Count murmured his surprise and pleasure, and Ri again declared, “That is so.”

“And it isn't the American climate that ages one, but the terrible persecutions of the British aristocracy! I can be as romantic as any girl, Count Bunker; why, Ri, you remember poor Abe Sellar and the stolen shoe-lace?”

“Guess I do!” said Ri.

“That was a romance if ever there was one! But I tell you, Count, sentiment gets rubbed off pretty quick when you come to a bankrupt Marquis writing three ill-spelled sheets to assure me of the disinterested affection inspired by my photograph, or a divorced Duke offering to read Tennyson to me if I'll hire a punt!”

“I can well believe it,” said the Count sympathetically.

“Well, now,” the heiress resumed, with a candid smile that made her cynicism become her charmingly, “you see how it is. I want a man one can RESPECT, even if he is a peer. He may have as many titles as dad has dollars, but he must be a MAN!”

“That is so,” said Ri, with additional emphasis.

“I can guarantee Lord Tulliwuddle as a model for a sculptor and an eligible candidate for canonization,” declared the Count.

“I guess we want something grittier than that,” said Ri.

“And what there is of it sounds almost too good news to be true,” added his sister. “I don't want a man like a stained-glass window, Count; because for one thing I couldn't get him.”

“If you specify your requirements we shall do our best to satisfy you,” replied the Count imperturbably.

“Well, now,” said Eleanor thoughtfully, “I may just as well tell you that if I'm going to take a peer—and I must own peers are rather my fancy at present—it was Mohammedan pashas last year, wasn't it, Ri?” (“That is so,” from Ri.)—“If I AM going to take a peer, I must have a man that LOOKS a peer. I've been plagued with so many undersized and round-shouldered noblemen that I'm beginning to wonder whether the aristocracy gets proper nourishment. How tall is Lord Tulliwuddle?”

“Six feet and half an inch.”

“That's something more like!” said Ri; and his sister smiled her acquiescence.

“And does he weigh up to it?” she inquired.

“Fourteen, twelve, and three-quarters.”

“What's that in pounds, Ri? We don't count people in stones in America.”

A tense frown, a nervous twitching of the lip, and in an instant the young financier produced the answer:

“Two hundred and nine pounds all but four ounces.”

“Well,” said Eleanor, “it all depends on how he holds himself. That's a lot to carry for a young man.”

“He holds himself like one of his native pine-trees, Miss Maddison!”

She clapped her hands.

“Now I call that just a lovely metaphor, Count Bunker!” she cried. “Oh, if he's going to look like a pine, and walk like the pipers at the Torrydhulish gathering, and really be a chief like Fergus MacIvor or Roderick Dhu, I do believe I'll actually fall in love with him!”

“Say, Count,” interposed Ri, “I guess we've heard he's half German.”

“It was indeed in Germany that he learned his thorough grasp of politics, statesmanship, business, and finance, and acquired his lofty ambitions and indomitable perseverance.”

“He'll do, Eleanor,” said the young man. “That's to say, if he is anything like the prospectus.”

His sister made no immediate reply. She seemed to be musing—and not unpleasantly.

At that moment a motor car passed the window.

“My!” exclaimed Eleanor, “I'd quite forgot! That will be to take the Honorable Stanley to the station. We must say good-by to him, I suppose.”

She turned to the Count and added in explanation—

“The last to apply was the Honorable Stanley Pilkington—Lord Didcott's heir, you know. Oh, if you could see him, you'd realize what I've had to go through!”

Even as she spoke he was given the opportunity, for the door somewhat diffidently opened and an unhappy-looking young man came slowly into the room. He was clearly to be classified among the round-shouldered ineligibles; being otherwise a tall and slender youth, with an amiable expression and a smoothly well-bred voice.

“I've come to say good-by, Miss Maddison,” he said, with a mournful air. “I—I've enjoyed my visit very much,” he added, as he timidly shook her hand.

“So glad you have, Mr. Pilkington,” she replied cordially. “It has been a very great pleasure to entertain you. Our friend Count Bunker—Mr. Pilkington.”

The young man bowed with a look in his eye that clearly said—

“The next candidate, I perceive.”

Then having said good-by to Ri, the Count heard him murmur to Eleanor—

“Couldn't you—er—couldn't you just manage to see me off?”

“With very great pleasure!” she replied in a hearty voice that seemed curiously enough rather to damp than cheer his drooping spirits.

No sooner had they left the room together than Darius, junior, turned energetically to his guest, and said in a voice ringing with pride—

“You may not believe me, Count, but I assure you that is the third fellow she has seen to the door inside a fortnight! One Duke, one Viscount—who will expand into something more considerable some day—and this Honorable Pilkington! Your friend, sir, will be a fortunate man if he is able to please my sister.”

“She seems, indeed, a charming girl.”

“Charming! She is an angel in human form! And I, sir, her brother, will see to it that she is not deceived in the man she chooses—not if I can help it!”

The young man said this with such an air as Bunker supposed his forefathers to have worn when they hurled the tea into Boston harbor.

“I trust that Lord Tulliwuddle, at least, will not fall under your displeasure, sir,” he replied with an air of sincere conviction that exactly echoed his thoughts.

“Oh, Ri!” cried Eleanor, running back into the room, “he was so sweet as he said good-by in the hall that I nearly kissed him! I would have, only it might have made him foolish again. But did you see his shoulders, Count! And oh, to think of marrying a gentle thing like that! Is Lord Tulliwuddle a firm man, Count Bunker?”

“Adamant—when in the right,” the Count assured her.

A renewed air of happy musing in her eyes warned him that he had probably said exactly enough, and with the happiest mean betwixt deference and dignity he bade them farewell.

“Then, Count, we shall see you all to-morrow,” said Eleanor as they parted. “Please tell your hosts that I am very greatly looking forward to the pleasure of knowing them. There is a Miss Gallosh, isn't there?”

The Count informed her that there was in fact such a lady.

“That is very good news for me! I need a girl friend very badly, Count; these proposals lose half their fun with only Ri to tell them to. I intend to make a confidante of Miss Gallosh on the spot!”

“H'm,” thought the Count, as he drove away, “I wonder whether she will.”