from the weather, and if they were lucky they might make Sandy
Hook in a week. On the other hand, they might not; but it is always well
to take a cheerful view of things. People who cross the Atlantic in
yachts are very different from the regular crowds that go backwards and
forwards in the great lines. They are seldom in a hurry, and have
generally made a good many voyages before. Perhaps the Duke himself, in
his quality of host, was the most uncomfortable man on board. He did
not see how the Countess and the Doctor could possibly survive being
shut up together in a small vessel, for he was convinced that Barker
knew all about their difficulty. If he had not liked Claudius so much,
he would have been angry at him for daring to propose to this beautiful
young friend of his. But then Claudius was Claudius, and even the Duke
saw something in him besides his wealth which gave him a right to aspire
to the highest.

"I can't make out," the Duke once said to Barker, "where Claudius got
his manners. He never does anything the least odd; and he always seems
at his ease."

"I only know he came to Heidelberg ten years ago, and that he is about
thirty. He got his manners somewhere when he was a boy."

"Of course, there are lots of good people in Sweden," said the Duke;
"but they all have titles, just as they do in Germany. And Claudius has
no title."

"No," said Barker pensively, "I never heard him say he had a title."

"I don't know anything about it," answered the Duke. "But I have been a
good deal about Sweden, and he is not in the least like a respectable
Swedish burgher. Did you not tell me that his uncle, who left him all
that money, was your father's partner in business?"

"Yes, I remember once or twice hearing the old gentleman say he had a
nephew. But he was a silent man, though he piled up the dollars."

"Claudius is a silent man too," said the Duke.

"And he has sailed into the dollars ready piled."

But this was before the eventful day just described; and the Duke had
forgotten the conversation, though he had repeated the reflections to
himself, and found them true. To tell the truth, Claudius looked more
like a duke than his host, for the sea air had blown away the
professorial cobwebs; and, after all, it did not seem so very
incongruous in the Englishman's eyes that his handsome guest should fall
in love with the Countess Margaret. Only, it was very uncomfortable; and
he did not know exactly what he should