Count Bunker Part 21
CHAPTER XVII
Raising his eyes after the profound bow which the Count considered appropriate to his character of plenipotentiary, he beheld at last the object of his mission; and whether or not she was the absolutely peerless beauty her father had vaunted, he at once decided that she was lovely enough to grace Hechnahoul, or any other, Castle. Black eyes and a ma.s.s of coal-black hair, an ivory pale skin, small well-chiselled features, and that distinctively American plumpness of contour--these marked her face; while as for her figure, it was the envy of her women friends and the distraction of all mankind who saw her.
"Fortunate Baron!" thought Bunker.
Beside her, though sufficiently in the rear to mark the relative position of the s.e.xes in the society they adorned, stood Darius P.
Maddison, junior--or "Ri," in the phrase of his relatives and friends--a broad-shouldered, well-featured young man, with keen eyes, a mouth compressed with the stern resolve to die richer than Mr. Rockefeller, and a pair of perfectly ironed trousers.
"I am very delighted to meet you," declared the heiress.
"Very honored to have this pleasure," said the brother.
"While I enjoy both sensations," replied the Count, with his most agreeable smile.
A little preliminary conversation ensued, in the course of which the two parties felt an increasing satisfaction in one another's society; while Bunker had the further pleasure of enjoying a survey of the room in which they sat. Evidently it was Miss Maddison's peculiar sanctum, and it revealed at once her taste and her power of gratifying it. The tapestry that covered two sides of the room could be seen at a glance to be no mere modern imitation, but a priceless relic of the earlier middle ages. The other walls were so thickly hung with pictures that one could scarcely see the pale-green satin beneath; and among these paintings the Count's educated eye recognized the work of Raphael, Botticelli, Turner, and Gainsborough among other masters; while beneath the cornice hung a well-chosen selection from the gems of the modern Anglo-American school.
The chairs and sofa were upholstered in a figured satin of a slightly richer hue of green, and on several priceless oriental tables lay displayed in ivory, silver, crystal, and alabaster more articles of vertu than were to be found in the entire house of an average collector.
"Fortunate Tulliwuddle!" thought Bunker.
They had been conversing on general topics for a few minutes, when Miss Maddison turned to her brother and said, with a frankness that both pleased and entertained the Count--
"Ri, dear, don't you think we had better come right straight to the point? I feel sure Count Bunker is only waiting till he knows us a little better, and I guess it will save him considerable embarra.s.sment if we begin."
"You are the best judge, Eleanor. I guess your notions are never far of being all right."
With a gratified smile Eleanor addressed the Count.
"My brother and I are affinities," she said. "You can speak to him just as openly as you can to me. What is fit for me to hear is fit for him."
a.s.suring her that he would not hesitate to act upon this guarantee if necessary, the Count nevertheless diplomatically suggested that he would sooner leave it to the lady to open the discussion.
"Well," she said, "I suppose we may presume you have called here as Lord Tulliwuddle's friend?"
"You may, Miss Maddison."
"And no doubt he has something pretty definite to suggest?"
"Matrimony," smiled the Count.
Her brother threw him a stern smile of approval.
"That's right slick THERE!" he exclaimed.
"Lord Tulliwuddle has made a very happy selection in his amba.s.sador,"
said Eleanor, with equal cordiality. "People who are afraid to come to facts tire me. No doubt you will think it strange and forward of me to talk in this spirit, Count, but if you'd had to go through the worry of being an American heiress in a European state you would sympathize. Why, I'm hardly ever left in peace for twenty-four hours--am I, Ri?"
"That is so," quoth Ri.
"What would you guess my age to be, Count Bunker?"
"Twenty-one," suggested Bunker, subtracting two or three years on general principles.
"Well, you're nearer it than most people. Nineteen on my last birthday, Count!"
The Count murmured his surprise and pleasure, and Ri again declared, "That is so."
"And it isn't the American climate that ages one, but the terrible persecutions of the British aristocracy! I can be as romantic as any girl, Count Bunker; why, Ri, you remember poor Abe Sellar and the stolen shoe-lace?"
"Guess I do!" said Ri.
"That was a romance if ever there was one! But I tell you, Count, sentiment gets rubbed off pretty quick when you come to a bankrupt Marquis writing three ill-spelled sheets to a.s.sure me of the disinterested affection inspired by my photograph, or a divorced Duke offering to read Tennyson to me if I'll hire a punt!"
"I can well believe it," said the Count sympathetically.
"Well, now," the heiress resumed, with a candid smile that made her cynicism become her charmingly, "you see how it is. I want a man one can RESPECT, even if he is a peer. He may have as many t.i.tles as dad has dollars, but he must be a MAN!"
"That is so," said Ri, with additional emphasis.
"I can guarantee Lord Tulliwuddle as a model for a sculptor and an eligible candidate for canonization," declared the Count.
"I guess we want something grittier than that," said Ri.
"And what there is of it sounds almost too good news to be true," added his sister. "I don't want a man like a stained-gla.s.s window, Count; because for one thing I couldn't get him."
"If you specify your requirements we shall do our best to satisfy you,"
replied the Count imperturbably.
"Well, now," said Eleanor thoughtfully, "I may just as well tell you that if I'm going to take a peer--and I must own peers are rather my fancy at present--it was Mohammedan pashas last year, wasn't it, Ri?"
("That is so," from Ri.)--"If I AM going to take a peer, I must have a man that LOOKS a peer. I've been plagued with so many undersized and round-shouldered n.o.blemen that I'm beginning to wonder whether the aristocracy gets proper nourishment. How tall is Lord Tulliwuddle?"
"Six feet and half an inch."
"That's something more like!" said Ri; and his sister smiled her acquiescence.
"And does he weigh up to it?" she inquired.
"Fourteen, twelve, and three-quarters."
"What's that in pounds, Ri? We don't count people in stones in America."
A tense frown, a nervous twitching of the lip, and in an instant the young financier produced the answer:
"Two hundred and nine pounds all but four ounces."
"Well," said Eleanor, "it all depends on how he holds himself. That's a lot to carry for a young man."
"He holds himself like one of his native pine-trees, Miss Maddison!"
She clapped her hands.