Her mother looked at her approvingly.
“Poor Baron!” she said, in a tone of the greatest commiseration.
“So far from home!” sighed Mr Bunker. “And yet so cheerful through it all,” he added.
“What did you say was the matter?” asked the Countess.
Mr Bunker had thought it both wiser and more effective to maintain a little mystery round his friend’s malady.
“The doctor hasn’t yet given a decided opinion,” he replied.
“Can’t we do anything?” said Lady Alicia, softly.
Mr Bunker thought the guests were nearly worked up to the proper pitch of sympathy.
“Poor Rudolph!” he exclaimed. “It would cheer him immensely, I know, and ease my own anxiety as well, if you would venture in to see him for a few minutes. In such a case there is no sympathy so welcome as a woman’s.”
The Countess glanced at her daughter, and wavered for an instant between those proprieties for which she was a famous stickler and this admirable chance of completing the Baron’s conquest.