into
the room, her face agitated, but rather, it seemed, with excitement than
grief.

"Papa, lend me five pounds," she panted.

"Lend you--five pounds! And what for, I'd like to know?"

"Don't ask me now. I--I promise to tell you later--some time later."

"I'll see myself----! I mean, you're talking nonsense."

Eva's lip trembled.

"Hi, hist! Eva, my dear," said Mr. Rentoul; "if you're wanting the money
badly, and your papa doesn't see his way----"

He concluded his sentence with a wink and a dive into his
trousers-pocket, and a minute later Eva had fled from the room again.

This action of the sage, being at total variance to his ordinary habits
(which indeed erred on the economical side), was attributed by his irate
host--with a certain show of reason--to the mere intention of annoying
him; and the conversation took a more acrimonious turn than ever. In
fact, when Eva returned a few minutes later she was just in time to hear
her father thunder in an infuriated voice--

"A German waiter, is he? Aye, that's verra probable, verra probable
indeed. In fact I might have known it when I saw you and him swilling
a bottle and a half of my best port together! Birds of a feather--aye,
aye, exactly!"

The crushing retort which the sage evidently had ready to heap upon the
fire of this controversy was anticipated by Miss Gallosh.

"He isn't a German waiter, papa! He is a German BARON--and an
ambassador, too!"

The four started and stared at her.

"Where did you learn that?" demanded her father.

"I've been talking to the man who brought the letter, and he says that
Lord Tulli--I mean the Baron--declares positively that he is a German
nobleman!"

"Tuts, fiddlesticks!" scoffed her father.

"Verra like a whale," pronounced the sage.

"I wouldn't believe what HE said," declared Mrs. Gallosh.

"One can SEE he isn't," said Mrs. Rentoul.

"The kind of Baron that plays in a German band, perhaps," added her
husband, with a whole series of winks to give point to this mot.

"He's just a scoundrelly adventurer!" shouted Mr. Gallosh.

"I hope he'll get penal servitude, that's what I hope," said his wife
with a sob.

"And, judging from his appearance, that'll be no new experience for
him," commented the sage.

So remarkably had their judgment of the late Lord Tulliwuddle waxed in
discrimination. And, strange to say, his only defender was the lady he
had injured most.

"I still believe him a gentleman!" she cried,