“But I thought, I mean it seemed as though you considered him only well informed.” Lady Alicia’s blushes and confusion deepened. Her mother looked at her with a softening eye. Suddenly she rose, kissed her affectionately, and said with the tenderness of triumph, “My _dear_ girl! Of course he is; clever, well informed, and a most _desirable_ young man. My Alicia could not do——” She stopped, as if she thought this was perhaps a little premature (though the Countess’s methods inclined to the summary and decisive), and again kissing her daughter affectionately, remarked gaily, “Let me see, why, it’s almost time we went for our little walk! We mustn’t really disappoint those young men. I am in the middle of such an amusing discussion with Mr Bunker, who is really a very sensible man and quite worthy of the Baron’s judgment.” Poor Lady Alicia hardly knew whether to feel more relieved at her escape or dismayed at the construction put upon her explanation. She went out to meet the Baron, determined to give no further colour to her mother’s unlucky misconception. The Countess was far too experienced and determined a general to leave it at all doubtful who should walk by whose side, and who should have the opportunity of appreciating whose merits, but Lady Alicia was quite resolved that the Baron’s blandishments should fall on stony ground. But a soft heart and an undecided mouth are treacherous companions. The Baron was so amiable and so gallant, that at the end of half an hour she was obliged to abate the strictness of her resolution. She should treat him with the friendliness of a brother. She learned that he had no sisters: her decision was confirmed. The enamoured and delighted Baron was in the seventh heaven of happy loquacity. He poured out particulars of his travels, his more recordable adventures, his opinions on various social and political matters, and at last even of the family ghost, the hereditary carpet-beatership, and the glories of Bavaria. And Lady Alicia listened with what he could not doubt was an interest touched with tenderness. “I wonder,” she said, artlessly, “that you find anything to admire in England—compared with Bavaria, I mean.” “Two zings I haf not zere,” replied the Baron, waving his hand round towards the horizon. “Vun is ze vet sheet of flowing sea—says not your poet so? Ze ozzer” (laying his hand on his heart) “is ze Lady Alicia à Fyre.” There are some people who catch sentiment whenever it happens to be in the air, just as others almost equally unfortunate regularly take hay-fever. Lady Alicia’s reply was much softer than she intended, especially as she could have told anybody that the Baron’s compliment was the merest figure of speech. “You needn’t have included me: I’m sure _I’m_ not a great attraction.” “Ze sea is less, so zat leaves none,” the Baron smiled. “Didn’t you see anybody—I mean, anything in London that attracted you—that you liked?”