“In conclusion, Mrs. Gallosh and myself beg to assure you that although you find strangers in your ancestral halls, you will receive both from your tenantry and ourselves a very hearty welcome to your native land. Believe me, your obedient servant,
“DUNCAN JNO. GALLOSH.”
“Zat is goot news!” cried the Baron. “Ve shall have company—perhaps ladies! Ach, Bonker, I have ze soft spot in mine heart: I am so constant as ze needle to ze pole; but I do like sometimes to talk mit voman!”
“With Mrs. Gallosh, for instance?”
“But, Bonker, zere may be a Miss Gallosh.”
“If you consulted the Baroness,” said Bunker, smiling, “I suspect she would prefer you to be imprisoned in China.”
The Baron laughed, and curled his martial mustache with a dangerous air.
“Who is zis Gallosh?” he inquired.
“Scottish, I judge from his name; commercial, from his literary style; elevated by his own exertions, from the size of his crest; and wealthy, from the fact that he rents Hechnahoul Castle. His mention of Mrs. Gallosh points to the fact that he is either married or would have us think so; and I should be inclined to conclude that he has probably begot a family.”
“Aha!” said the Baron. “Ve vill gom and see, eh?”