With that we left them. Things began to move fast. Norris came down to dinner, and we all sat together in the dining-room with the new count. It was the last despairing effort of mama to grasp the persimmon. She had boosted her daughter within easy reach of said persimmon, but Gwendolyn refused to pull it down. Her attitude was polite but firm. “It doesn't look good to me,” she seemed to be saying. The count told thrilling tales of royal friends and palaces, and they all rang like good metal, for this count was a real aristocrat. Still, “No, thanks” was in the voice and manner of Gwendolyn. He twanged airy compliments on his little guitar. “No, thanks!” Gwendolyn gave me a sly wink and suggested that I should tell a story. I saw what was expected of me and got the floor and kept it. Finally the count played his best trump. They would be invited to a fête in the palace of a certain noted prince. “No, thanks!” said Gwendolyn, before her mother could answer. “It is very kind of you, but we shall be so busy getting ready to sail.” The count took his medicine like a thoroughbred. “And you--you must not be astonished to see me in America before much time, I should say,” he answered. “What a joy to welcome you there!” Mrs. Norris exclaimed. Then followed a little duet in Fifth Avenue and Roman dialect with monocle and minuet accompaniment by the great artists Norris and Raspagnetti based on these allegations: _First: She was so glad to have had the great pleasure of meeting him._ _Second: He was so glad to have had the honor of meeting her and her daughter._ _Third: She was so sorry to say good-by._ _Fourth: She was a dear lady, and could never know how much pain it “afflicted upon him” to say good-by; but fortunately she was not leaving him hopeless._ The climax had passed. Gwendolyn got her hand kissed, and so did her mother--there was no dodging that--but it was our last experience with the hand-smackers of Italy. We had a happy American evening together in the Norris apartments, and Mrs. Norris seemed to enjoy my imitation of her parting with the count. The first occurrence of note in the morning was Mrs. Mullet. She was getting to be a perennial, but she grew a foot that day in our estimation. She had brought with her a note from Muggs. He was very ill in his room and begged her to come and see him as a last favor. What should she do? “Let's go and see him--you and I and Mrs. Potter,” was my suggestion. “This has all the ear-marks of a case of true love. My professional advice has never been sought in a case of that kind; but come on, let's see what there is to it.” We went and found Muggs abed, with a high fever. No more nonsense now! I've got to be decently serious for a few minutes. We were amazed to see how the sight of Mrs. Mullet affected him, and how tenderly he clung to her hands, and begged her to forget the man he had been. She turned to me with wet eyes and said: