could just pick him out of the depths of
an armchair, his feet resting on the mantelpiece, while his lap and all
the floor round about were covered with immense books. The Baron's
curiosity was still further excited by observing that they consisted
principally of a London and a St Egbert's directory, several volumes of a
Dictionary of National Biography, and one or two peerages and county
family compilations.

He looked up with a smile. "You may well wonder, my dear Baron. The fact
is, I am looking for a name."

"A name! vat name?"

"Alas! if I knew what it was I should stop looking, and I confess I'm
rather sick of the job."

"Vich vay do you look, zen?"

"Simply by wading my way through all the lists of names I could steal or
borrow. It's devilish dry work."

"Ze name of a vriend, is it?"

"Yes; but I'm afraid I must wait till it comes. And what is this
discovery, Baron? A petticoat, I presume. After all, they are the only
things worth finding," and he shut the books one after another.

"A petticoat with ze fairest girl inside it!" exclaimed the Baron,
rapturously.

"Your eyes seem to have been singularly penetrating, Baron. Was she dark
or fair, tall or short, fat or slender, widow, wife, or maid?"

"Fair, viz blue eyes, short pairhaps but not too short, slender as
a--a--drom-stick, and I vould say a maid; at least I see vun stout old lady
mit her, mozzer and daughter I soppose."

"And did this piece of perfection seem to appreciate you?"

"Vy should I know? Zey are ze real ladies and pairtend not to see me, bot
I zink zey notice me all ze same. Not 'lady vriends,' Bonker, ha, ha, ha!"

Mr Bunker laughed with reminiscent amusement, and inquired, "And how did
the romance end--in a cab, Baron?"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Baron; "better zan zat, Bonker--moch better!"

Mr Bunker raised his eyebrows.

"It's hardly the time of year for a romance to end in a bathing-machine.
You followed the divinity to her rented heaven, perhaps?"

The Baron bent forward and answered in a stage whisper, "Zey live in zis
hotel, Bonker!"

"Then I can only wish you joy, Baron, and if my funds allow me, send her a
wedding present."

"Ach, not quite so fast, my vriend! I am not caught so easy."

"My dear fellow, a week at close quarters is sufficient to net any man."

"Ven I marry," replied the Baron, "moch most be considered. A von
Blitzenberg does not mate viz every vun."

"A good many families have made the same r