"Well, I'll be darned if I ever felt so cut up in my life. The old lady was perfectly calm and cool; wasn't a bit scared--though there was no reason why she should be. She just gave it to me that way. But when she accused me of forcing an entrance and kicking up a row, I was struck all of a heap and couldn't say a word. _Me_ force an entrance! _Me_ kick up a row! And in Minnie's house! Why, the old woman's mad! "Well, the old lady shut the door in my face, and I walked off; and I've been ever since trying to understand it, but I'll be darned if I can make head or tail of it. The only thing I see is that they're all keeping Minnie locked up away from me. They don't like me, though why they don't I can't see; for I'm as good as any body, and I've been particular about being civil to all of them. Still they don't like me, and they see that Minnie does, and they're trying to break up the engagement. But by the living jingo!" and the Baron clinched a good-sized and very sinewy fist, which he brought down hard on the table--"by the living jingo, they'll find they can't come it over _me_! No, _Sir_!" "Is she fond of you--Miss Fay, I mean?" "Fond! Course she is. She dotes on me." "Are you sure?" "Sure! As sure as I am of my own existence. Why, the way she looks at me is enough! She has a look of helpless trust, an innocent confidence, a tender, child-like faith and love, and a beseeching, pleading, imploring way that tells me she is mine through and through." Hawbury was a little surprised. He thought he had heard something like that before. "Oh, well," said he, "that's the chief thing, you know. If you're sure of the girl's affections, the battle's half won." "Half won! Ain't it all won?" "Well, not exactly. You see, with us English, there are ever so many considerations." "But with us Americans there is only one consideration, and that is, Do you love me? Still, if her relatives are particular about dollars, I can foot up as many thousands as her old man, I dare say; and then, if they care for rank, why, I'm a Baron!" "And what's more, old boy," said Hawbury, earnestly, "if they wanted a valiant, stout, true, honest, loyal soul, they needn't go further than Rufus K. Gunn, Baron de Atramonte." The Baron's face flushed. "Hawbury," said he, "that's good in you. We've tried one another, haven't we? You're a brick! And I don't need _you_ to tell _me_ what you think of me. But if you could get a word into the ear of that cantankerous old lady, and just let her know what _you_ know about me, it might move her. You see you're after her style, and I'm not; and she can't see any thing but a man's manner, which, after all, varies in all countries. Now if you could speak a word for me, Hawbury--" "By Jove! my dear fellow, I'd be glad to do so--I swear I would; but you don't appear to know that I won't have the chance. They're all going to leave Rome to-morrow morning." The Baron started as though he had been shot.