“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.” “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. “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.