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 stage The Lash?
"Hang it, the Baron has had such a good innings that he can scarcely grudge me a short knock," he said to himself. "He can wait for me at Perth or somewhere."
And, ringing the bell, he wrote and promptly despatched this brief telegram:
"Delighted. Shall spend to-night in passing. Bunker."
Hardly was this point settled when the footman re-entered to inform him that Mr. Maddison's motor car was at the door waiting to convey him without delay to Lincoln Lodge. Accompanying this announcement came the Silver King's card bearing the words, "Please come and see me at once."
The Count stroked his chin, and lit a cigarette.
"There is something fresh in the wind," thought he.
