CHAPTER XXX.
"I have been longing for this moment!" said Julia softly.
The Count and she were seated over the drawing-room fire, Bunker in an easy-chair, smoking one of the excellent cigars which he had so grievously slandered, Julia upon a stool by his knees, her face suffused with the most intense expression of rapture.

Miss Minchell was in the background, shrouded in shadow, purporting to be enjoying a nap; yet the Count could not but think that in so large a house a separate apartment might well have been provided for her.

Her presence, he felt, circumscribed his actions uncomfortably.
"So have I!" he murmured, deeming this the most appropriate answer.
"Now we can talk about HIM!" He started, but preserved his composure.
"Couldn't we keep HIM till morning ?" he suggested.
"But that is why you are here!" She spoke as if this were self-evident; while the Count read himself a thousand lessons upon the errors vanity is apt to lead one into.

Yet his politeness remained unruffled.
"Of course," he answered.

"Of course! But you see my knowledge of him----" He was about to say that it was very slight, when, fortunately for him, she interrupted with an eager-- "I know! I know! You were more than a son to him!" "The deuce and all!" thought the Count.