"Oh! ah, yes. Come on." And the British aristocracy settled the rose in
his button-hole and led the way. He moved strongly with long steps, but
Mr. Barker walked delicately like Agag.

"By the by, Barker, she is a countrywoman of yours. She married a
Russian, and her name is Margaret."

"Was it a happy marriage?" asked the American, taking his cigar from his
mouth.

"Exceedingly. Husband killed at Plevna. Left her lots of tin."

They reached their destination. The Countess was at home. The Countess
was enchanted to make the acquaintance of Monsieur, and on learning that
he was an American and a compatriot, was delighted to see him. They
conversed pleasantly. In the course of twenty minutes the aristocracy
discovered he had an engagement and departed, but Mr. Barker remained.
It was rather stretching his advantage, but he did not lack confidence.

"So you, too, Countess, have been in Heidelberg this summer?"

"About three weeks ago. I am very fond of the old place."

"Lovely, indeed," said Barker. "The castle, the old tower half blown
away in that slovenly war--"

"Oh, such a funny thing happened to me there," exclaimed the Countess
Margaret, innocently falling into the trap. "I was standing just at the
edge with Miss Skeat--she is my companion, you know--and I dropped my
parasol, and it fell rattling to the bottom, and suddenly there started,