the Regent's. Let us come into the smoking-room."

In a few minutes they were all on the best of terms. A certain perplexity,
and almost shyness, that the young man showed at first, vanished rapidly
before the Baron's cordiality and Mr Bunker's well-bred charm of manner.

They were deeply engrossed in a discussion on the reigning sovereign of
the Baron's native land, a monarch of whose enlightened policy that
nobleman spoke with pardonable pride, when two elderly gentlemen entered
the room.

"Who are these?" Mr Bunker whispered to Transome. "I know them very well,
but I am always bad at names."

"Lord Fabrigas and General M'Dermott," replied Transome.

Instantly Mr Bunker rose and greeted the new-comers.

"Good evening, Lord Fabrigas; good evening, General. You have just come in
time to be introduced to the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, whom you
doubtless know by reputation."

The Baron rose and bowed, and it struck him that elderly English gentlemen
were singularly stiff and constrained in their manner. Mr Bunker, however,
continued cheerfully, "We are just going to have a smoking concert. Will
you begin, Baron?"

"I know not English songs," replied the Baron, "bot I should like moch to
hear."

"You must join in the chorus, then."

"Certainly, Bonker. I haf a voice zat is considered--vat you
call--deafening, yes?--in ze chorus."

Mr Bunker cleared his throat, and, just as the General was on the point of
interposing a remark, struck up hastily; and for the first time in its
long and honourable history the smoking-room of the Regent's Club reechoed
to a popular music-hall ditty.

"They sometimes call 'em duckies, they sometimes call 'em pets,
And sometimes they refer to 'em as dears
They live on little matters that a gentleman forgets,
In a little world of giggles and of tears;
There are different varieties from which a man may choose,
There are sorts and shapes and sizes without end,
But the kind I'd pick myself is the kind you introduce
By the simple title of 'my lady friend.' "

"Chorus, Baron!" And then he trolled in waltz time this edifying refrain--

"My lady friend, my lady friend!
Can't you twig, dear boys,
From the sound of the kisses
She isn't my misses,
She's only my lady friend!"

In a voice like a train going over a bridge the Baron chimed in--

"My laty vrient, my laty vrient!
Cannot you t