e Countess actually condescended to smile back.

"She is a _dear_ child," she murmured.

"His income, I think, is sufficient," he answered.

Humour was not conspicuous in the Grillyer family. The Countess replied
seriously, "I am one of those out-of-date people, Mr Bunker, who consider
some things come before money, but the Baron's birth and position are
fortunately unimpeachable."

"While his mental qualities," said Mr Bunker, "are, in my experience,
almost unique."

The Countess was confirmed in her opinion of Mr Bunker's discrimination.

Late that night, after they had parted with their friends, the Baron
smoked in the most unwonted silence while Mr Bunker dozed on the sofa.
Several times Rudolph threw restive glances at his friend, as if he had
something on his mind that he needed a helping hand to unburden himself
of. At last the silence grew so intolerable that he screwed up his courage
and with desperate resolution exclaimed, "Bonker!"

Mr Bunker opened his eyes and sat up.

"Bonker, I am in loff!"

Mr Bunker smiled and stretched himself out again.

"I have also been in love," he replied.

"You are not now?"

"Alas! no."

"Vy alas?"

"Because follies _without_ illusions get so infernally dull, Baron."

The Baron smiled a little foolishly.

"I haf ze illusions, I fear." Then he broke out enthusiastically, "Ach,
bot is she not lofly, Bonker? If she will bot lof me back I shall be ze
happiest man out of heaven!"

"You have wasted no time, Baron."

The Baron shook his head in melancholy pleasure.

"You are quite sure it is really love this time?" his friend pursued.

"Qvite!" said the Baron, with the firmness of a martyr.

"There are so many imitations."

"Not so close zat zey can deceive!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mr Bunker. "These first symptoms are common to them
all, and yet the varieties of the disease are almost beyond counting. I
myself have suffered from it in eight different forms. There was the
virulent, spotted-all-over variety, known as calf-love; there was the kind
that accompanied itself by a course of the Restoration dramatists; another
form I may call the strayed-Platonic, and that may be subdivided into at
least two; then there was----"

"Schtop! schtop!" cried the Baron. "Ha, ha, ha! Zat will do! Teufel! I
most examine my heart strictly. And yet, Bonker, I zink my loff is anozzer
kind--ze _real!_"

"They are all that, Baron; but have it your own way. Anything I can do t