"Undoubtedly one feels all the better for a little appreciation," he
reflected complacently. "I wonder if it was my trews that bowled her
over?"

CHAPTER XXV

The Count next morning consumed a solitary breakfast, his noble friend
having risen some hours previously and gone for an early walk upon the
hill. But he was far from feeling any trace of boredom, since an open
letter beside his plate appeared to provide him with an ample fund of
pleasant and entertaining reflections.

"I have not withered yet," he said to himself. "Here is proof positive
that some blossom, some aroma remains!"

The precise terms of this encouraging epistle were these:

"THE LASH, near NETHERBRIG.

"Tuesday night.

"DEAR COUNT BUNKER,--Forgive what must seem to you INCREDIBLE boldness
(!), and do not think worse of me than I deserve. It seems such a pity
that you should be so near and yet that I should lose this chance of
gratifying my great desire. If you knew how I prized the name of Bunker
you would understand; but no doubt I am only one among many, and you do
understand better than I can explain.

"My father is away from home, and the WORLD dictates prudence; but
I know your views on conventionality are those I too have learned to
share, so will you come and see me before you leave Scotland?

"With kindest regards and in great haste because I want you to get this
to-morrow morning. Believe me, yours very sincerely,

"JULIA WALLINGFORD."

"P.S.--If it would upset your arrangements to come only for the day,
Miss Minchell agrees with me that we could easily put you up.--J. W."

"By Jingo!" mused the Count, "that's what I call a sporting offer. Her
father away from home, and Count Bunker understanding better than she
can explain! Gad, it's my duty to go!"

But besides the engaging cordiality of Miss Wallingford's invitation,
there was something about the letter that puzzled almost as much as it
cheered him.

"She prizes the name of Bunker, does she? Never struck me it was very
ornamental; and in any case the compliment seems a trifle stretched.
But, hang it! this is looking a gift-horse in the mouth. Such ardor
deserves to be embraced, not dissected."

He swiftly debated how best to gratify the lady. Last night it had been
his own counsel, and likewise the Baron's desire, to leave by the night
mail that very evening, with their laurels still unfaded and blessings
heaped upon their heads. Why not make his next stag