“Who are these, Rudolph?”
He cleared his throat, but the process seemed to take some time, and in the meanwhile he felt the grip of his deliverers relax.
“Who is that lady?” demanded Eleanor.
“His wife,” replied the Baroness.
The Baron felt his arms freed now; but still his Alicia waited an answer. It came at last, but not from the Baron's lips.
“Well, here you all are!” said a cheerful voice behind them.
CHAPTER XXXVII
They turned as though they expected to see an apparition. Nor was the appearance of the speaker calculated to disappoint such expectations. Their startled eyes beheld indeed the most remarkable figure that had ever wheeled a bicycle down the platform of Torrydhulish Station. Hatless, in evening clothes with blue lapels upon the coat, splashed liberally with mud, his feet equipped only with embroidered socks and saturated pumps, his shirt-front bestarred with souvenirs of all the soils for thirty miles, Count Bunker made a picture that lived long in their memories. Yet no foolish consciousness of his plight disturbed him as he addressed the Baron.
“Thank you, Baron, for escorting my fair friends so far. I shall now take them off your hands.”