CHAPTER III.
With mirrors reflecting a myriad lights, with the hum of voices, the rustle of satin and lace, the hurrying steps of waiters, the bubbling of laughter, of life, and of wine--all these on each side of them, and a plate, a foaming glass, and a friend in front, the Baron and his host smiled radiantly down upon less favored mortals.
"Tulliwuddle is very late," said Essington; "but he's a devilish casual gentleman in all matters." "I am selfish enoff to hope he vill not gom at all!" exclaimed the Baron.
"Unfortunately he has had the doubtful taste to conceive a curiously high opinion of myself.

I am afraid he won't desert us.

But I don't propose that we shall suffer for his slackness.

Bring the fish, waiter." The Baron was happy; and that is to say that his laughter re-echoed from the shining mirrors, his tongue was loosed, his heart expanded, his glass seemed ever empty.
"Ach, how to make zis joie de vivre to last beyond to-night!" he cried.
"May ze Teufel fly off mit of offeecial duties and receptions and--and even mit my vife for a few days." "My dear Baron!" "To Alicia!" cried the Baron hastily, draining his glass at the toast.
"But some fun first!" "'I could not love thee, dear, so well, Loved I not humor more!'" misquoted his host gaily.

"Ah!" he added, "here comes Tulliwuddle." A young man, with his hands in his pockets and an eyeglass in his eye, strolled up to their table.
"I'm beastly sorry for being so late," said he; "but I'm hanged if I could make up my mind whether to risk wearing one of these frilled shirt-fronts.