It was with a somewhat blank and lonely feeling that I betook myself to the van from which the luggage was being taken out: and, after giving directions to have my boxes sent after me, I made my way on foot to Arthur’s lodgings, and soon lost my lonely feeling in the hearty welcome my old friend gave me, and the cozy warmth and cheerful light of the little sitting-room into which he led me.

  “Little, as you see, but quite enough for us two. Now, take the easy-chair, old fellow, and let’s have another look at you! Well, you do look a bit pulled down!” and he put on a solemn professional air. “I prescribe Ozone, quant. suff. Social dissipation, fiant pilulae quam plurimae: to be taken, feasting, three times a day!”

  “But, Doctor!” I remonstrated. “Society doesn’t ‘receive’ three times a day!”

  “That’s all you know about it!” the young Doctor gaily replied. “At home, lawn-tennis, 3 p.m. At home, kettledrum, 5 p.m. At home, music (Elveston doesn’t give dinners), 8 p.m. Carriages at 10. There you are!”

  It sounded very pleasant, I was obliged to admit. “And I know some of the lady-society already,” I added. “One of them came in the same carriage with me.”

  “What was she like? Then perhaps I can identify her.”

  “The name was Lady Muriel Orme. As to what she was like—well, I thought her very beautiful. Do you know her?”

  “Yes—I do know her.” And the grave Doctor coloured slightly as he added “Yes, I agree with you. She is beautiful.”

  “I quite lost my heart to her!” I went on mischievously. “We talked—”

  “Have some supper!” Arthur interrupted with an air of relief, as the maid entered with the tray. And he steadily resisted all my attempts to return to the subject of Lady Muriel until the evening had almost worn itself away. Then, as we sat gazing into the fire, and conversation was lapsing into silence, he made a hurried confession.

  “I hadn’t meant to tell you anything about her,” he said (naming no names, as if there were only one “she” in the world!) “till you had seen more of her, and formed your own judgment of her: but somehow you surprised it out of me. And I’ve not breathed a word of it to anyone else. But I can trust you with a secret, old friend! Yes! It’s true of me, what I suppose you said in jest.”

  “In the merest jest, believe me!” I said earnestly. “Why, man, I’m three times her age! But if she’s your choice, then I’m sure she’s all that is good and—”

  “—and sweet,” Arthur went on, “and pure, and self-denying, and truehearted, and—” he broke off hastily, as if he could not trust himself to say more on a subject so sacred and so precious. Silence followed: and I leaned back drowsily in my easy-chair, filled with bright and beautiful imaginings of Arthur and his ladylove, and of all the peace and happiness in store for them.

  I pictured them to myself walking together, lingeringly and lovingly, under arching trees, in a sweet garden of their own, and welcomed back by their faithful gardener, on their return from some brief excursion.

  It seemed natural enough that the gardener should be filled with exuberant delight at the return of so gracious a master and mistress—and how strangely childlike they looked! I could have taken them for Sylvie and Bruno—less natural that he should show it by such wild dances, such crazy songs!

  “He thought he saw a Rattlesnake

  That questioned him in Greek:

  He looked again, and found it was

  The Middle of Next Week.

  ‘The one thing I regret,’ he said,

  ‘Is that it cannot speak!’ ”

  —least natural of all that the Vice-Warden and “my Lady” should be standing close beside me, discussing an open letter, which had just been handed to him by the Professor, who stood, meekly waiting, a few yards off.

  “If it were not for those two brats,” I heard him mutter, glancing savagely at Sylvie and Bruno, who were courteously listening to the Gardener’s song, “there would be no difficulty whatever.”

  “Let’s hear that bit of the letter again,” said my Lady. And the Vice-Warden read aloud:—

  “——and we therefore entreat you graciously to accept the Kingship, to which you have been unanimously elected by the Council of Elfland: and that you will allow your son Bruno—of whose goodness, cleverness, and beauty, reports have reached us—to be regarded as Heir-Apparent.”

  “But what’s the difficulty?” said my Lady.

  “Why, don’t you see? The Ambassador, that brought this, is waiting in the house: and he’s sure to see Sylvie and Bruno: and then, when he sees Uggug, and remembers all that about ‘goodness, cleverness, and beauty,’ why, he’s sure to—”

  “And where will you find a better boy than Uggug?” my Lady indignantly interrupted. “Or a wittier, or a lovelier?”

  To all of which the Vice-Warden simply replied “Don’t you be a great blethering goose! Our only chance is to keep those two brats out of sight. If you can manage that, you may leave the rest to me. I’ll make him believe Uggug to be a model of cleverness and all that.”

  “We must change his name to Bruno, of course?” said my Lady.

  The Vice-Warden rubbed his chin. “Humph! No!” he said musingly. “Wouldn’t do. The boy’s such an utter idiot, he’d never learn to answer to it.”

  “Idiot, indeed!” cried my Lady. “He’s no more an idiot than I am!”

  “You’re right, my dear,” the Vice-Warden soothingly replied. “He isn’t, indeed!”

  My Lady was appeased. “Let’s go in and receive the Ambassador,” she said, and beckoned to the Professor. “Which room is he waiting in?” she inquired.

  “In the Library, Madam.”

  “And what did you say his name was?” said the Vice-Warden.

  The Professor referred to a card he held in his hand. “His Adiposity the Baron Doppelgeist.”

  “Why does he come with such a funny name?” said my Lady.

  “He couldn’t well change it on the journey,” the Professor meekly replied, “because of the luggage.”

  “You go and receive him,” my Lady said to the Vice-Warden, “and I’ll attend to the children.”

  VII

  The Baron’s Embassy

  I was following the Vice-Warden, but, on second thoughts, went after my Lady, being curious to see how she would manage to keep the children out of sight.

  I found her holding Sylvie’s hand, and with her other hand stroking Bruno’s hair in a most tender and motherly fashion: both children were looking bewildered and half-frightened.

  “My own darlings,” she was saying, “I’ve been planning a little treat for you! The Professor shall take you a long walk into the woods this beautiful evening: and you shall take a basket of food with you, and have a little picnic down by the river!”

  Bruno jumped, and clapped his hands. “That are nice!” he cried. “Aren’t it, Sylvie?”

  Sylvie, who hadn’t quite lost her surprised look, put up her mouth for a kiss. “Thank you very much,” she said earnestly.

  My Lady turned her head away to conceal the broad grin of triumph that spread over her vast face, like a ripple on a lake. “Little simpletons!” she muttered to herself, as she marched up to the house. I followed her in.

  “Quite so, your Excellency,” the Baron was saying as we entered the Library. “All the infantry were under my command.” He turned, and was duly presented to my Lady.

  “A military hero?” said my Lady. The fat little man simpered. “Well, yes,” he replied, modestly casting down his eyes. “My ancestors were all famous for military genius.”

  My Lady smiled graciously. “It often runs in families,” she remarked: “just as a love for pastry does.”

  The Baron looked slightly offended, and the Vice-Warden discreetly changed the subject. “Dinner will soon be ready,” he said. “May I have the honour of conducting your Adiposity to the guest-chamber?”

  “Certainly, certainly!” the Baron eagerly assented. “It would never do to keep dinner waiting!” And he almost trotted out of the room after the Vice-Warden.

  He was back again so speedily that the Vice-Warden had barely time to explain to my Lady that her remark about “a love for pastry” was “unfortunate. You might have seen, with half an eye,” he added, “that that’s his line. Military genius, indeed! Pooh!”

  “Dinner ready yet?” the Baron enquired, as he hurried into the room.

  “Will be in a few minutes,” the Vice-Warden replied. “Meanwhile, let’s take a turn in the garden. You were telling me,” he continued, as the trio left the house, “something about a great battle in which you had the command of the infantry—”

  “True,” said the Baron. “The enemy, as I was saying, far outnumbered us: but I marched my men right into the middle of—what’s that?” the Military Hero exclaimed in agitated tones, drawing back behind the Vice-Warden, as a strange creature rushed wildly upon them, brandishing a spade.

  “It’s only the Gardener!” the Vice-Warden replied in an encouraging tone. “Quite harmless, I assure you. Hark, he’s singing! It’s his favorite amusement.”

  And once more those shrill discordant tones rang out:—

  “He thought he saw a Banker’s Clerk

  Descending from the bus:

  He looked again, and found it was

  A Hippopotamus:

  ‘If this should stay to dine,’ he said,

  ‘There won’t be much for us!’ ”

  Throwing away the spade, he broke into a frantic jig, snapping his fingers, and repeating, again and again

  “There won’t be much for us!

  There won’t be much for us!”

  Once more the Baron looked slightly offended, but the Vice-Warden hastily explained that the song had no allusion to him, and in fact had no meaning at all. “You didn’t mean anything by it, now did you?” He appealed to the Gardener, who had finished his song, and stood, balancing himself on one leg, and looking at them, with his mouth open.

  “I never means nothing,” said the Gardener: and Uggug luckily came up at the moment, and gave the conversation a new turn.

  “Allow me to present my son,” said the Vice-Warden; adding, in a whisper, “one of the best and cleverest boys that ever lived! I’ll contrive for you to see some of his cleverness. He knows everything that other boys don’t know; and in archery, in fishing, in painting, and in music, his skill is—but you shall judge for yourself. You see that target over there? He shall shoot an arrow at it. Dear boy,” he went on aloud, “his Adiposity would like to see you shoot. Bring his Highness’ bow and arrows!”

  Uggug looked very sulky as he received the bow and arrow, and prepared to shoot. Just as the arrow left the bow, the Vice-Warden trod heavily on the toe of the Baron, who yelled with the pain.

  “Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed. “I stepped back in my excitement. See! It is a bull’s-eye!”

  The Baron gazed in astonishment. “He held the bow so awkwardly, it seemed impossible!” he muttered. But there was no room for doubt: there was the arrow, right in the centre of the bull’s-eye!

  “The lake is close by,” continued the Vice-Warden. “Bring his Highness’ fishing-rod!” And Uggug most unwillingly held the rod, and dangled the fly over the water.

  “A beetle on your arm!” cried my Lady, pinching the poor Baron’s arm worse than if ten lobsters had seized it at once. “That kind is poisonous,” she explained. “But what a pity! You missed seeing the fish pulled out!”

  An enormous dead codfish was lying on the bank, with the hook in its mouth.

  “I had always fancied,” the Baron faltered, “that cod were salt-water fish?”

  “Not in this country,” said the Vice-Warden. “Shall we go in? Ask my son some question on the way—any subject you like!” And the sulky boy was violently shoved forwards, to walk at the Baron’s side.

  “Could your Highness tell me,” the Baron cautiously began, “how much seven times nine would come to?”

  “Turn to the left!” cried the Vice-Warden, hastily stepping forwards to show the way—so hastily, that he ran against his unfortunate guest, who fell heavily on his face.

  “So sorry!” my Lady exclaimed, as she and her husband helped him to his feet again. “My son was in the act of saying ‘sixty-three’ as you fell!”

  The Baron said nothing: he was covered with dust, and seemed much hurt, both in body and mind. However, when they had got him into the house, and given him a good brushing, matters looked a little better.

  Dinner was served in due course, and every fresh dish seemed to increase the good-humour of the Baron: but all efforts, to get him to express his opinion as to Uggug’s cleverness, were in vain, until that interesting youth had left the room, and was seen from the open window, prowling about the lawn with a little basket, which he was filling with frogs.

  “So fond of Natural History as he is, dear boy!” said the doting mother. “Now do tell us, Baron, what you think of him!”

  “To be perfectly candid,” said the cautious Baron, “I would like a little more evidence. I think you mentioned his skill in—”

  “Music?” said the Vice-Warden. “Why, he’s simply a prodigy! You shall hear him play the piano.” And he walked to the window. “Ug—I mean my boy! Come in for a minute, and bring the music-master with you! To turn over the music for him,” he added as an explanation.

  Uggug, having filled his basket with frogs, had no objection to obey, and soon appeared in the room, followed by a fierce-looking little man, who asked the Vice-Warden “Vot music vill you haf?”

  “The Sonata that His Highness plays so charmingly,” said the Vice-Warden.

  “His Highness haf not—” the music-master began, but was sharply stopped by the Vice-Warden.

  “Silence, Sir! Go and turn over the music for his Highness. My dear,” (to the Wardeness) “will you show him what to do? And meanwhile, Baron, I’ll just show you a most interesting map we have—of Outland, and Fairyland, and that sort of thing.”

  By the time my Lady had returned, from explaining things to the music-master, the map had been hung up, and the Baron was already much bewildered by the Vice-Warden’s habit of pointing to one place while he shouted out the name of another.

  My Lady joining in, pointing out other places, and shouting other names, only made matters worse; and at last the Baron, in despair, took to pointing out places for himself, and feebly asked “Is that great yellow splotch Fairyland?”

  “Yes, that’s Fairyland,” said the Vice-Warden: “and you might as well give him a hint,” he muttered to my Lady, “about going back tomorrow. He eats like a shark! It would hardly do for me to mention it.”

  His wife caught the idea, and at once began giving hints of the most subtle and delicate kind. “Just see what a short way it is back to Fairyland! Why, if you started tomorrow morning, you’d get there in very little more than a week!”

  The Baron looked incredulous. “It took me a full month to come,” he said.

  “But it’s ever so much shorter, going back, you know!”

  The Baron looked appealingly to the Vice-Warden, who chimed in readily. “You can go back five times, in the time it took you to come here once—if you start tomorrow morning!”

  All this time the Sonata was pealing through the room. The Baron could not help admitting to himself that it was being magnificently played: but he tried in vain to get a glimpse of the youthful performer. Every time he had nearly succeeded in catching sight of him, either the Vice-Warden or his wife was sure to get in the way, pointing out some new place on the map, and deafening him with some new name.

  He gave in at last, wished a hasty good night, and left the room, while his host and hostess interchanged looks of triumph.

  “Deftly done!” cried the Vice-Warden. “Craftily contrived! But what means all that tramping on the stairs?” He half-opened the door, looked out, and added in a tone of dismay, “The Baron’s boxes are being carried down!”

  “And what means all that rumbling of wheels?” cried my Lady. She peeped through the window curtains. “The Baron’s carriage has come round!” she groaned.

  At this moment the door opened: a fat, furious face looked in: a voice, hoarse with passion, thundered out the words “My room is full of frogs—I leave you!”: and the door closed again.

  And still the noble Sonata went pealing through the room: but it was Arthur’s masterly touch that roused the echoes, and thrilled my very soul with the tender music of the immortal “Sonata Pathetique”: and it was not till the last note had died away that the tired but happy traveler could bring himself to utter the words “good night!” and to seek his much-needed pillow.

  VIII

  A Ride on a Lion

  The next day glided away, pleasantly enough, partly in settling myself in my new quarters, and partly in strolling round the neighbourhood, under Arthur’s guidance, and trying to form a general idea of Elveston and its inhabitants. When five o’clock arrived, Arthur proposed—without any embarrassment this time—to take me with him up to “the Hall,” in order that I might make acquaintance with the Earl of Ainslie, who had taken it for the season, and renew acquaintance with his daughter Lady Muriel.

  My first impressions of the gentle, dignified, and yet genial old man were entirely favourable: and the real satisfaction that showed itself on his daughter’s face, as she met me with the words “this is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure!”, was very soothing for whatever remains of personal vanity the failures and disappointments of many long years, and much buffeting with a rough world, had left in me.