  The Baron was in high hopes of seeing the fair unknown at breakfast, but it seemed she must be either breakfasting in her own room or lying long abed. “I think I shall go out for a little constitutional,” said Mr Bunker, when he had finished. “I suppose the hotel has a stronger attraction for you.” “Ach, yes, I shall remain,” his friend replied. “Pairhaps I may see zem.” [pg 131]“Take care then, Baron!” “I shall not propose till you return, Bonker!” “No,” said Mr Bunker to himself, “I don’t think you will.” Just outside St Egbert’s there is a high breezy sweep of downs, falling suddenly to a chalky seaward cliff. It overlooks the town and the undulating inland country and a great spread of shining sea; and even without a spy-glass you can see sail after sail and smoke-wreath after smoke-wreath go by all day long. But Mr Bunker had apparently walked there for other reasons than to see the view. He did stop once or twice, but it was only to scan the downs ahead, and at the sight of a fluttering skirt he showed no interest in anything else, but made a straight line for its owner. For her part, the lady seemed to await his coming. She gathered her countenance into an expression of as perfect unconcern as a little heightening of her colour would allow her, and returned his salute with rather a distant bow. But Mr Bunker was not to be damped by this hint of barbed wire. He held out his hand and exclaimed cordially, “My dear Lady Alicia! this is charming of you!” “Of course you understand, Mr Beveridge, it’s only——” “Perfectly,” he interrupted, gaily; “I understand everything I should and nothing I shouldn’t. In fact, I have altered little, except in the trifling matter of a beard, a moustache or two, and, by the way, a name.” “A name?” “I am now Francis Bunker, but as much at your service as ever.” [pg 132]“But why—I mean, have you really changed your name?” “Circumstances have changed it, just as circumstances shaved me.” Lady Alicia made a great endeavour to look haughty. “I do not quite understand, Mr——” “Bunker—a temporary title, but suggestive, and simple for the tradesmen.” “I do not understand your conduct. Why have you changed your name?” “Why not?” This retort was so evidently unanswerable that Lady Alicia changed her inquiry. “Where have you been?” “Till yesterday, in London.” “Then you didn’t go to your own parish?” she demanded, reproachfully. “There were difficulties,” he replied; “in fact, a certified lunatic is not in great demand as a parish priest. They seem to prefer them uncertified.” “But didn’t you try?” “Hard, but it was no use. The bishop was out of town, and I had to wait till his return; besides, my position was somewhat insecure. I have had at least two remarkable escapes since I saw you last.” “Are you safe here?” she asked, hurriedly. “With your consent, yes.” She looked a little troubled. “I don’t know that I am doing right, Mr Bev—Bunker, but——” “Thank you, my friend,” he interrupted, tenderly. [pg 133]“Don’t,” she began, hastily. “You mustn’t talk like——” “Francis Beveridge?” he interrupted. “The trouble is, this rascal Bunker bears an unconscionably awkward resemblance to our old friend.” “You must see that it is quite—ridiculous.” “Absurd,” he agreed,—“perfectly preposterous. I laugh whenever I think of it!” Poor Lady Alicia felt like a man at a telephone who has been connected with the wrong person. Again she made a desperate shift to fall back on a becoming pride. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “If I mean anything at all, which is always rather doubtful,” he replied, candidly, “I mean that Beveridge and his humbug were creatures of an occasion, just as Bunker and his are of another. The one occasion is passed, and with it the first entertaining gentleman has vanished into space. The second gentleman will doubtless follow when his time is up. In fact, I may be said to be a series of dissolving views.” “Then isn’t what you said true?” “I’m afraid you must be more specific; you see I’ve talked so much.” “What you said about yourself—and your work.” He shook his head humorously. “I have no means of checking my statements.” She looked at him in a troubled way, and then her eyes fell. “At least,” she said, “you won’t—you mustn’t treat me as—as you did.” [pg 134]“As Beveridge did? Certainly not; Bunker is the soul of circumspection. Besides, he doesn’t require to get out of an asylum.” “Then it was only to get away?” she cried, turning scarlet. “Let us call it so,” he replied, looking pensively out to sea. It seemed wiser to Lady Alicia to change the subject. “Who is the friend you are staying with?” she asked, suddenly. “My old friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, and your own most recent admirer,” he replied. “I am at present living with, in fact I may say upon, him.” “Does he know?” “If you meet him, you had perhaps better not inquire into my past history.” “I meant, does he know about—about your knowing me?” “Bless them!” thought Mr Bunker; “one forgets they’re not always thinking about us!” “My noble friend has no idea that I have been so fortunate,” he replied. Lady Alicia looked relieved. “Who is he?” she asked. “A German nobleman of great wealth, long descent, and the most accommodating disposition. He is at present exploring England under my guidance, and I flatter myself that he has already seen and done a number of things that are not on most programmes.” Lady Alicia was silent for a minute. Then she said [pg 135] “A letter? No,” he replied, in some surprise. “I wrote twice—because you asked me to, and I thought—I wondered if you were safe.” “To what address did you write?” “The address you gave me.” “And what was that?” he asked, still evidently puzzled. “You said care of the Archbishop of York would find you.” Mr Bunker abruptly looked the other way. “By Jove!” he said, as if lost in speculation, “I must find out what the matter was. I can’t imagine why they haven’t been forwarded.” Lady Alicia appeared a little dissatisfied. “Was that a real address?” she asked, suddenly. “Perfectly,” he replied; “as real as Pentonville Jail or the House of Commons.” (“And as likely to find me,” he added to himself.) Lady Alicia seemed to hesitate whether to pursue the subject further, but in the middle of her debate Mr Bunker asked, “By the way, has Lady Grillyer any recollection of having seen me before?” “No, she doesn’t remember you at all.” “Then we shall meet as strangers?” “Yes, I think it would be better; don’t you?” “It will save our imaginations certainly.” Lady Alicia looked at him as though she expected something more; but as nothing came, she said, “I think it’s time I went back.” [pg 136]“For the present then au revoir, my dear Alicia. I beg your pardon, Lady Alicia; it was that rascal Beveridge who made the slip. It now remains to make your formal acquaintance.” “You—you mustn’t try!” “The deuce is in these people beginning with B!” he laughed. “They seem to do things without trying.” He pressed her hand, raised his hat, and started back to the town. She, on her part, lingered to let him get a clear start of her, and her blue eyes looked as though a breeze had blown across and ruffled them. Mr Bunker had reached the esplanade, and was sauntering easily back towards the hotel, looking at the people and smiling now and then to himself, when he observed with considerable astonishment two familiar figures strolling towards him. They were none other than the Baron and the Countess, engaged in animated conversation, and apparently on the very best terms with each other. At the sight of him the Baron beamed joyfully. “Aha, Bonker, so you haf returned!” he cried. “In ze meanvile I haf had vun great good fortune. Let me present my friend Mr Bonker, ze Lady Grillyer.” The Countess bowed most graciously, and raising a pair of tortoise-shell-rimmed eye-glasses mounted on a stem of the same material, looked at Mr Bunker through these with a by no means disapproving glance. At first sight it was evident that Lady Alicia must “take after” her noble father. The Countess was aquiline of nose, large of person, and emphatic in her voice and manner. [pg 137]“You are the ‘showman,’ Mr Bunker, are you not?” she said, with a smile for which many of her acquaintances would have given a tolerable percentage of their incomes. “It seems,” replied Mr Bunker, smiling back agreeably, “that the Baron is now the showman, and I must congratulate him on his first venture.” For an instant the Countess seemed a trifle taken aback. It was a considerable number of years since she had been addressed in precisely this strain, and in fact at no time had her admirers ventured quite so dashingly to the attack. But there was something entirely irresistible in Mr Bunker’s manner, partly perhaps because he never made the mistake of heeding a first rebuff. The Countess coughed, then smiled a little again, and said to the Baron, “You didn’t tell me that your showman supplied the little speeches as well.” “I could not know it; zere has not before been ze reason for a pretty speech,” responded the Baron, gallantly. If Lady Grillyer had been anybody else, one would have said that she actually giggled. Certainly a little wave of scandalised satisfaction rippled all over her. “Oh, really!” she cried, “I don’t know which of you is the worst offender.” All this time, as may be imagined, Mr Bunker had been in a state of high mystification at his friend’s unusual adroitness. “How the deuce did he get hold of her?” he said to himself. In the next pause the Baron solved the riddle. [pg 138]“You vil vunder, Bonker,” he said, “how I did gom to know ze Lady Grillyer.” “I envied, certainly,” replied his friend, with a side glance at the now purring Countess. “She vas of my introdogtions, bot till after you vent out zis morning I did not lairn her name. Zen I said to myself, ‘Ze sun shines, Himmel is kind! Here now is ze fair Lady Grillyer—my introdogtion!’ and zo zat is how, you see.” “To think of the Baron being here and our only finding each other out by chance!” said the Countess. “By a fortunate providence for me!” exclaimed the Baron, fervently. “Baron,” said the Countess, trying hard to look severe, “you must really keep some of these nice speeches for my daughter. Which reminds me, I wonder where she can be?” “Ach, here she goms!” cried the Baron. “Why, how did you know her?” asked the Countess. “I—I did see her last night at dinnair,” explained the Baron, turning red. “Ah, of course, I remember,” replied the Countess, in a matter-of-fact tone; but her motherly eye was sharp, and already it began to look on the highly eligible Rudolph with more approval than ever. “My daughter Alicia, the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, Mr Bunker,” she said the next moment. The Baron went nearly double as he bowed, and the flourish of his hat stirred the dust on the esplanade. Mr Bunker’s salutation was less profound, but his face expressed [pg 139] |
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