somewhat late in the London season, to be sure, yet not
too late to be inundated with a snowstorm of cards and
invitations to all the smartest functions that remained.
For the first few weeks, at least, you would suppose the
Baron to have no time for thought beyond official
receptions and unofficial dinners; yet as he looked from his
drawing-room windows into the gardens of Belgrave
Square upon the second afternoon since they had settled
into this great mansion, it was not upon such functions
that his fancy ran. Nobody was more fond of gaiety,
nobody more appreciative of purple and fine linen, than
the Baron von Blitzenberg; but as he mused there he began
to recall more and more vividly, and with an ever
rising pleasure, quite different memories of life in
London. Then by easy stages regret began to cloud this
reminiscent satisfaction, until at last he sighed--

"Ach, my dear London! How moch should I enjoy
you if I were free!"

For the benefit of those who do not know the Baron
either personally or by repute, he may briefly be
described as an admirably typical Teuton. When he first
visited England (some five years previously) he stood
for Bavarian manhood in the flower; now, you behold
the fruit. As magnificently mustached, as ruddy of
skin, his eye as genial, and his impulses as hearty; he
added to-day to these two more stone of Teutonic excellences
incarnate.