Countess."

"I think Countess Margaret understands me very well."

"Yes," said Barker, "she understands you very well." He did not
emphasise the remark, and his voice was high and monotonous; but the
repetition was so forcible that Claudius looked at his companion rather
curiously, and was silent. Barker was examining the cork of his little
pint bottle of champagne--"just one square drink," as he would have
expressed it--and his face was a blank.

"Don't you think, Professor," he said at last, "that with your views
about the rights of women you might make some interesting studies in
America?"

"Decidedly."

"You might write a book."

"I might," said Claudius.

"You and the Countess might write a book together."

"Are you joking?"

"No. What I have heard you saying to each other this evening and the
other day when we called would make a very interesting book, though I
disagree with you both from beginning to end. It would sell, though."

"It seems to me you rather take things for granted when you infer that
the Countess would be willing to undertake anything of the kind."

Barker looked at the Doctor steadily, and smiled.

"Do you really think so? Do you imagine that if you would do the work
she would have any objection whatever to giving you the benefit of her
views and experience?"

"In other words," Claudius said, "you are referring to the possibility
of a journey to America, in the company of the charming woman to whom
you have introduced me."

"You are improving, Professor; that is exactly what I mean. Let us
adjourn from the bowers of Baden to the wind-swept cliffs of Newport--we
can be there before the season is over. But I forgot, you thought you
would not like Newport."

"I am not sure," said Claudius. "Do you think the Countess would go?"

"If you will call there assiduously, and explain to her the glorious
future that awaits your joint literary enterprise, I believe she might
be induced."

Claudius went to bed that night with his head full of this new idea,
just as Mr. Barker had intended. He dreamed he was writing with the
Countess, and travelling with her and talking to her; and he woke up
with the determination that the thing should be done if it were
possible. Why not? She often made a trip to her native country, as she
herself had told him, and why should she not make another? For aught he
knew, she might be thinking of it even now.

Then he had a reaction of despondency. He knew