With a pleasantly dejected air he ushered the ladies into the darkened sick-room. The Baron, striving to conceal his exultation under a rueful semblance, greeted them with a languid yet happy smile. “Ah, Lady Grillyer, zis is kind indeed! And you, Lady Alicia, how can I zank you?” “My daughter and I are much distressed, Baron, to find our host _hors de combat_,” said the Countess, graciously. “Just when you wanted to go away too!” added Lady Alicia, sympathetically. The Baron emitted a happy blend of sigh and groan. “Alas!” he replied, “it is hard indeed.” “You must hurry up and get better,” said the Countess, in her most cheering sick-room manner. “It won’t do to disappoint the Brierleys, you know.” “You must come down for _part_ of the time,” smiled her daughter. These expressions of sympathy so affected the Baron that he placed his hand on his brow and turned slightly away to conceal his emotion. At the same time Mr Bunker, with well-timed dramatic effect, sank wearily into a chair, and, laying his elbow on the back, hid his own face in his hand. Their guests jumped to the most alarming conclusions, and looked from one to the other with great concern. “Dear me!” said the Countess, “surely it isn’t so very serious, Mr Bunker; it isn’t _infectious_, is it?” The unlucky Baron here made his first mistake: without waiting for his more diplomatic friend to reply, he answered hastily, “Ach, no, it is bot a cold.” Lady Grillyer’s expression changed. “A cold!” she said. “Dear me, that can’t be so very serious, Baron.” “It is a bad cold,” said the Baron. By this time the ladies’ eyes were growing more used to the dim light, and Mr Bunker could see that they were taking rapid stock of the garnishings. “This, I suppose, is your cough-mixture,” said the Countess, examining the bottle. The Baron incautiously admitted it was. “Two table-spoonfuls every half hour!” she exclaimed; “why, I never heard of taking a cough-mixture in such doses. Besides, your cough doesn’t seem so very bad, Baron.” “Ze doctor told me to take it so,” replied the Baron. The Countess turned towards Mr Bunker and said, with a touch of suspicion in her voice, “I thought, Mr Bunker, the doctor had given no opinion.” The Baron threw a glance of intense ferocity at his friend. “In the Baron’s desire to spare your feelings,” replied Mr Bunker, gravely, “he has been a little inaccurate; that is not precisely an ordinary cough-mixture.” “Oh,” said the Countess. Lady Alicia’s attention had been strongly attracted by the bath, and suddenly she exclaimed, “Why, there are goldfish in it!” The Baron’s nerve was fast deserting him. “Ze doctor ordered zem,” he began—“I mean, I am fond of fishes.” The Countess looked hard at the unhappy young man, and then turned severely to his friend. “_What_ is the matter with the Baron?” she demanded. Mr Bunker saw there was nothing for it but heroic measures.