“Zat I liked, yes, zat pairhaps for the moment attracted me; but not zat shall still attract me ven I am gone avay.” The Baron sighed this time, and she felt impelled to reply, with the most sisterly kindness, “I—we should, of course, like to think that you didn’t forget us _altogether_.” “You need not fear.” Then Lady Alicia began to realise that this was more like a second cousin than a brother, and with sudden sprightliness she cried, “I wonder where that steamer’s going!” The Baron turned his eyes towards his first-named attraction, but for a professed lover of the ocean his interest appeared slight. He only replied absently, “Ach, zo?” A little way behind them walked Mr Bunker and the Countess. The attention of Lady Grillyer was divided between the agreeable conversation of her companion and the pleasant spectacle of a fabulous number of pfennigs a-year bending its titled head over her daughter. In the middle of one of Mr Bunker’s most amusing stories she could not forbear interrupting with a complacent “they _do_ make a very handsome couple!” Mr Bunker politely stopped his narrative, and looked critically from his friend’s gaily checked back to Lady Alicia’s trim figure. “Pray go on with your story, Mr Bunker,” said the Countess, hastily, realising that she had thought a little too loudly. “They are like,” responded Mr Bunker, replying to her first remark—“they are like a pair of gloves.” The Countess raised her brows and looked at him sharply. “I mean, of course, the best quality.” “I think,” said the Countess, suspiciously, “that you spoke a little carelessly.” “My simile was a little premature?” “I think so,” said the Countess, decisively. “Let us call them then an odd pair,” smiled Mr Bunker, unruffled; “and only hope that they’ll turn out to be the same size and different hands.” The Countess actually condescended to smile back. “She is a _dear_ child,” she murmured. “His income, I think, is sufficient,” he answered. Humour was not conspicuous in the Grillyer family. The Countess replied seriously, “I am one of those out-of-date people, Mr Bunker, who consider some things come before money, but the Baron’s birth and position are fortunately unimpeachable.” “While his mental qualities,” said Mr Bunker, “are, in my experience, almost unique.” The Countess was confirmed in her opinion of Mr Bunker’s discrimination. Late that night, after they had parted with their friends, the Baron smoked in the most unwonted silence while Mr Bunker dozed on the sofa. Several times Rudolph threw restive glances at his friend, as if he had something on his mind that he needed a helping hand to unburden himself of. At last the silence grew so intolerable that he screwed up his courage and with desperate resolution exclaimed, “Bonker!” Mr Bunker opened his eyes and sat up. “Bonker, I am in loff!” Mr Bunker smiled and stretched himself out again. “I have also been in love,” he replied. “You are not now?” “Alas! no.” “Vy alas?”