"You touch my tenderest chord, Baron!"
"Goot, goot, my friend!" cried the Baron, warming to his work of confession like a penitent whose absolution is promised in advance; "you speak ze vords I love to hear! Of course I vould not be vicked, and I vould not disgrace myself; but I do need a leetle exercise. Is it possible?"
Essington sprang up and enthusiastically shook his hand.
"Dear Baron, you come like a ray of sunshine through a London fog--like a moulin rouge alighting in Carlton House Terrace! I thought my own leaves were yellowing; I now perceive that was only an autumnal change. Spring has returned, and I feel like a green bay tree!"
"Hoch, hoch!" roared the Baron, to the great surprise of two Cabinet Ministers and a Bishop who were taking tea at the other side of the