“Present my compliments to his Excellency,” he said, watch in hand, when the servant appeared, “and tell him that as the fifteen minutes I was able to spare him have expired, I regret not to be able to see him.” The man, taken aback by this turning of the tables, poured forth a torrent of apologies and entreaties, but Cyril waved them aside, and passed down the grand staircase with a calm _hauteur_ of demeanour which compelled the respect of the servants in the hall. This time none of them failed in the due observances, and he left the house like an honoured guest. Before he had gone more than a few steps, Count Temeszy ran after him, bare-headed. “Pray come back, Mortimer. I can’t think what the servants were doing, that they didn’t send in your name.” “Sorry I have no time to spare.” “Nonsense; come back. I can’t let Caerleon’s brother be turned away from my door like this.” Count Temeszy spoke with evident embarrassment, and Cyril was quick to draw the inference that he was now only to be tolerated as Caerleon’s brother. He withdrew his arm from the Hungarian’s grasp. “Thanks, Temeszy; but there are doors enough open to me without darkening those where I am unwelcome. I will tell Caerleon how faithful you are to your ideas of friendship.” “But my brother-in-law is most anxious to see you. He is awaiting you at this moment with the greatest eagerness.” “My dear Count Temeszy, you only increase my regret that I cannot possibly spare him another moment. I am lunching at the Café Viborg, and you must excuse me if I hurry away.” Leaving Count Temeszy disconsolate on the pavement, Cyril disengaged himself with a ceremonious bow, and walked on. It was without any surprise that, when he was seated at his lunch a little later, he saw the Count and his brother-in-law enter the café. Glancing in his direction as if accidentally, they crossed the room to speak to him, and almost immediately a friend on the other side of the place claimed Count Temeszy’s attention. With a muttered apology, he joined him at his table, and Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal sat down casually opposite Cyril. “You had something to say to me, I believe?” he remarked. “Not that I know of,” was the disconcerting reply. “Hearing that you would be in Vindobona, I set aside a quarter of an hour for you for the sake of auld lang syne, but that was all.” “My brother-in-law understood that you were most anxious to see me. In fact, he was lamenting all morning that you had refused his invitation to lunch, until I reminded him that it was perhaps just as well, for at such short notice it would be difficult to ensure that there should be no pork on the table.” Cyril smiled. “You are in good spirits to-day, Baron. Still, I would advise you, as a friend, to let your jokes remain entirely between ourselves. Other people might fail to appreciate them.”