“The dog was destroyed at once,” he replied, with intense gravity. “It is therefore impossible to say exactly what is the matter.” “_The dog!_” cried the two ladies together. “By this evening,” he continued, “we shall know the worst—or the best.” “What do you mean?” exclaimed the Countess, withdrawing a step from the bed. “I mean,” replied Mr Bunker, with a happy inspiration, “that this bath is a delicate test. No victim of the dread disease of hydrophobia can bear to look——” But the Countess gave him no time to finish. Even as he was speaking the Baron’s face had passed through a series of the most extraordinary expressions, which she not unnaturally put down to premonitory symptoms. “It’s beginning already!” she shrieked. “Alicia, my love, come quickly. How dare you expose us, sir?” “Calm yourselves. I assure you——” pleaded Mr Bunker, coming hastily after them, but they were at the door before him. The hapless Baron could stand it no longer. Crying, “No, no, it is false!” he sprang out of bed, arrayed in a tweed suit only half concealed by his night-shirt, and, forgetting all about the bath, descended with a great splash among the startled goldfish. The Countess paused in the half-opened door and looked at him with horror that rapidly passed into intense indignation. “I am not ill!” he cried. “It vos zat rascal Bonker’s plot. He made me! I haf not hydrophobia!” Most unkindest cut of all, Lady Alicia went off into hysterical giggles. For a moment her mother glared at the two young men in silence, and then only remarking, “I have never been so insulted before,” she went out, and her daughter followed her. As the door closed Mr Bunker went off into roar after roar of laughter, but the humorous side of the situation seemed to appeal very slightly to his injured friend. “You rascal! you villain!” he shouted, “zis is ze end of our friendship, Bonker! Do you use ze pistols? Tell me, sare!” “My dear Baron,” gasped Mr Bunker, “I could not put such an inartistic end to so fine a joke for the world.” “You vill not fight? Coward! poltroon! I know not ze English name bad enoff for you!” With difficulty Mr Bunker composed himself and replied, still smiling: “After all, Baron, what harm has been done? I get all the blame, and the sympathy you wanted is sure to turn to you.” “False friend!” thundered the Baron. “My dear Baron!” said Mr Bunker, mildly, “whose fault was it that the plot miscarried? If you’d only left it all to me——” “Left it to you! Yes, I left too moch to you! Traitor, it vas a trick to vin ze Lady Alicia for yourself! Speak to me nevermore!” And with that the infuriated nobleman rushed off to his own room. As there was no further sign of him for the next half hour, Mr Bunker, still smiling to himself at the recollection, went out to take the air; but just as he was about to descend the stairs he spied Lady Alicia lingering in a passage. He turned back and went up to her.