As they were passing through the room a little incident occurred that, if the Baron’s perceptions had been keener, might have given him cause for some speculation. Two men standing by the door looked hard at Mr Bunker, and then at each other, and as the Baron passed them he heard one say, “It looks devilish like him.”
“He has shaved, then,” said the other.
“Evidently,” replied the first speaker; “but I thought he was unlikely to appear in any society for some time.”
They both laughed, and the Baron heard no more.
When they reached the ballroom the band was striking up a polka, and presently Mr Bunker, with his accustomed grace, was tearing round the room with Lady Muriel, while the Baron—the delight of all eyes in his red waistcoat—led out her sister. In a very short time the other dancers found the Baron and his friend’s onslaught so [pg 104] vigorous that prudence compelled them to take shelter along the wall, and from a safe distance admire the evolutions of these two mysterious guests.
Mr Bunker was enlivening the monotony of the polka by the judicious introduction of hornpipe steps, while the Baron, his coat-tails high above his head, shouted and stamped in his wild career.
“Do stop for a minute, Baron,” gasped his fair partner.
“Himmel, nein!” roared the Baron. “I haf gom here for to dance! Ha, Bonker, ha!”
At last Lady Muriel had to stop through sheer exhaustion, but Mr Bunker, merely letting her go, pursued his solitary way, double-shuffling and kicking unimpeded.
The Baron stopped, breathless, to admire him. Round and round he went, the only figure in the middle of the room, his arms akimbo, his feet rat-tatting and kicking to the music, while high above the band resounded his friend’s shouts of “Bravo, Bonker! Wunderschön! Gott in himmel, higher, higher!” till at length, missing the wall in an attempt to find support, the Baron dropped with a thud into a sitting posture and continued his demonstrations from the floor.