A minute later he was back in the ballroom looking anxiously for the Baron, but that nobleman was nowhere to be seen.
“The devil!” he said to himself. “Can they have tackled him too?”
But as he ran downstairs a gust of cheerful laughter set his mind at ease.
“Ha, ha, ha! Vere is old Bonker? He also vill shoot vid me!”
“Here I am, my dear Baron,” he exclaimed gaily, as he tracked the voice into the supper-room.
“Ach, mine dear Bonker!” cried the Baron, folding him in his muscular embrace, “I haf here met friends, ve are merry! Ve drink to Bavaria, to England, to everyzing!”
The “friends” consisted of two highly amused young men and two half-scandalised, half-hysterical ladies, into the midst of whose supper-table the Baron had projected himself with infectious hilarity. They all looked up with great curiosity at Mr Bunker, but that gentleman was not in the least put about. He bowed politely to the table generally, and took his friend by the arm.
“It is time we were going, Baron, I’m afraid,” he said.
“Vat for? Ah, not yet, Bonker, not yet. I am enjoying myself down to ze floor. I most dance again, Bonker, jost vunce more,” pleaded the Baron.
“My dear Baron, the noblemen of highest rank must [pg 107] always leave first, and people are talking of going now. Come along, old man.”