The Countess looked hard at the unhappy young man, and then turned severely to his friend.
“What is the matter with the Baron?” she demanded.
Mr Bunker saw there was nothing for it but heroic measures.
“The dog was destroyed at once,” he replied, with intense gravity. “It is therefore impossible to say exactly what is the matter.”
“The dog!” cried the two ladies together.
“By this evening,” he continued, “we shall know the worst—or the best.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed the Countess, withdrawing a step from the bed.
“I mean,” replied Mr Bunker, with a happy inspiration, “that this bath is a delicate test. No victim of the dread disease of hydrophobia can bear to look——”
But the Countess gave him no time to finish. Even as he was speaking the Baron’s face had passed through a series of the most extraordinary expressions, which she not unnaturally put down to premonitory symptoms.
“It’s beginning already!” she shrieked. “Alicia, my love, come quickly. How dare you expose us, sir?”