“Mr. Maddison, ze Count will stay mit me.”
Though a little surprised at this arrangement, which scarcely accorded with his lordship's virile appearance and dashing air, Mr. Maddison was by this time too favorably disposed to question the wisdom of any suggestion he might make, and accordingly the two friends found themselves closeted together in Miss Maddison's sanctum awaiting the appearance of the heiress.
“Shall I remain through the entire interview?” asked the Count.
“Oh yes, mine Bonker, you most! Or—vell, soppose it gets unnecessary zen vill I cry 'By ze Gad!' and you vill know to go.”
“'By the Gad'? I see.”
“Or—vell, not ze first time, but if I say it tree times, zen vill you make an excuse.”
“Three times? I understand, Baron.”
CHAPTER XXII
In the eye of the heiress, as in her father's, might be noted a shade of surprise at finding two gentlemen instead of one. But though the Count instantly perceived his superfluity, and though it had been his greatest ambition throughout his life to add no shade to the dullness with which he frequently complained that life was overburdened, yet his sense of obligation to his friend was so strong that he preferred to bore rather than desert. As the only compensation he could offer, he assumed the most retiring look of which his mobile features were capable, and pretended to examine one of the tables of curios.