home. But anyhow I have now telegraphed—and my leetle dinner mit my friend—Ach, it is so important zat I most rosh and get dressed. Cheer up, my loff! Good-by!”      

       He paused in answer to a tearful question.     

       “His name? Alas, I have promised not to say. You vould not have a European war by my indiscretion?”      

  

       CHAPTER III     

       With mirrors reflecting a myriad lights, with the hum of voices, the rustle of satin and lace, the hurrying steps of waiters, the bubbling of laughter, of life, and of wine—all these on each side of them, and a plate, a foaming glass, and a friend in front, the Baron and his host smiled radiantly down upon less favored mortals.     

       “Tulliwuddle is very late,” said Essington; “but he's a devilish casual gentleman in all matters.”      

       “I am selfish enoff to hope he vill not gom at all!” exclaimed the Baron.     

       “Unfortunately he has had the doubtful taste to conceive a curiously high opinion of myself. I am afraid he won't desert us. But I don't propose that we shall suffer for his slackness. Bring the fish, waiter.”      

       The Baron was happy; and that is to say that his laughter re-echoed from the shining mirrors, his tongue was loosed, his heart expanded, his glass seemed ever empty.     

       “Ach, how to make zis joie de vivre to last beyond to-night!” he cried.       “May ze Teufel fly off mit of offeecial duties and receptions and—and even mit my vife for a few days.”      

       “My dear Baron!”      

       “To Alicia!” cried the Baron hastily, draining his glass at the toast.       “But some fun first!”      

      “'I could not love thee, dear, so well, Loved I not humor more!'”  

       misquoted his host gaily. “Ah!” he added, “here comes Tulliwuddle.”      

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