year.—MYSELF (observing Miss Crawcour to be
listening). I can't agree with you there, Lady
Salteith; (to myself) I've never seen her before,
by-the-by; (to servant, protruding mutton over
left shoulder)Yes.—BUTLER (over right shoulder).
Champagne or sparkling 'ock, sir?—MYSELF.
Neither.—LORD SNEYD (to Miss Crawcour).
Did you hear Lady Salteith just now (his
lordship was devouring curry when Lady Salteith
spoke, and is only now ready to talk)?—Miss
CRAWCOUR. Yes.—LORD SNEYD. Does that
make you angry?—MISS CRAWCOUR. No. Lady
Salteith is quite right. GENERAL ACCOMPANIMENT.
Muffled clash, respectful clatter, and
subdued laughter.—M. F. H. I know a man
who would have given you anything for that
chesnut.—MYSELF. Yes? Well, it's too late
now. I sold him very well.—BUTLER (over
right shoulder). Sherry, sir?—MYSELF. Thanks.
—LADY SALTEITH (to me). Not a good
complexion, has she?—MYSELF (shouting). I can't
agree with you, Lady Salteith.—LADY SALTEITH.
Yes, as you say, wants colour.—MYSELF (to
myself). Its no use; (to servant, protruding grouse
over left shoulder) If you please.—LORD SNEYD
(to Miss Crawcour). What are you going to do
to-morrow morning, Miss Crawcour? Will you
try that air from the Prophète with me again?—
MISS CRAWCOUR. In the morning I am going
out riding, Lord Sneyd.—LORD SNEYD. Dear
me. You are always riding. I hate riding, it
shakes one so. Well, in the afternoon, then, after
luncheon?—MISS CRAWCOUR (icily). After
luncheon I shall be quite ready.—MYSELF (to
myself, being inclined for meditation). That girl
speaks with the air of a martyr. If I had
been Lord Sneyd—(to servant, protruding Charlotte-
Russe over left shoulder) No (to myself)
I would have made an effort to accompany
myself in that air from the Prophète, or have
sought a more willing coadjutor; (to servant,
protruding jelly over left shoulder) No, thank
you.—GENERAL ACCOMPANIMENT. Muffled clash,
respectful clatter, buzzing, and subdued laughter.
—M. F. H. (to a neighbour). We've begun the
cub-hunting now regularly. My huntsman tells
me there are a good many foxes this year.—
NEIGHBOUR (another fox-hunter, indistinctly
reported by the instrument). Glad—hear it—good
f. country—plenty—cover.—LADY SALTEITH
(to me). Do you ever see my nephew now?—
MYSELF. What, Harry Rushout? Oh yes,
sometimes.—LADY SALTEITH (to her neighbour
on the other side). My nephew is the wildest
young man about town. The other day he got
brought up before the magistrate and——
LORD SNEYD (to Miss Crawcour). Lady Salteith
is not always so fortunate as she might be in the
subjects she chooses for conversation.—MISS
CRAWCOUR. Poor thing. She belongs to a
different time. But she's very good, really.—LORD
SNEYD. I wonder she comes out, so deaf as she
is. She ought to stop at home.—MISS CRAWCOUR.
I like Lady Salteith exceedingly, and am
always glad to be staying in the house with her.
—MYSELF. That's right.—GENERAL
ACCOMPANIMENT. Clash—clatter.

Enough! Down goes the slide. The instrument
is shut up. There is the result of the
operation.

When that long "banquet scene" was at an
end, and the ladies left the room, I found
myself, by the retirement of old Lady Salteith,
next my hearty straightforward manly friend
Jack Fortescue, with whom I had already
exchanged a nod behind the old lady's back. I
was very glad to see him. We talked about
all sorts of things; and presently got upon
the subject which had been occupying me so
much during dinner. I was rather anxious,
I must own, to lead to it, having heard a rumour
somewhere or other, that my friend Jack himself
was smitten with Miss Crawcour. I don't know
when I had heard it, or where. Those things
seem in some societies to circulate in the air.

To my surprise, I found Fortescue very
uncommunicative about this matter, and still more, to
my wonder, I observed a tendency in him rather
favourable to this match. He even sought to
defend Lord Sneyd against my attacks.

"Oh, he's not such a bad fellow," he said,
"when you come to know him. He's affected,
you know, and pretends to be wonderfully
refined, and to be a petit-maître, and all that, but
he has his good points. We fellows who are
always shooting, or fishing, or riding over stone
dykes, are apt to undervalue a man of quieter
tastes, and more sedentary pursuits. Sneyd
goes in, you know, for being a sort of artist.
By-the-by—talking of artists—did you see that
portrait of the duchess in the Academy this year
—wasn't it good?"

I saw that my friend wanted to get away
from the subject, so of course I did not attempt
to pursue it. I was not enlightened by
anything that occurred in the drawing-room after
dinner. Miss Crawcour and Fortescue hardly
exchanged a dozen words, and Lord Sneyd was
in attendance upon the young lady throughout
the evening. In the smoking-room afterwards,
Lord Sneyd refused cigars, and smoked some
infernal perfumed composition out of a hookah.
Heaven knows what it was. Opium, perhaps?
Nothing wholesome, I'll warrant.

II.

It was on the day succeeding that of my
arrival at Creel, that I sought the billiard-room,
the usual refuge of the unemployed. I had
remained at home that morning, having some
letters to write and other things to do in my own
room. These finished, I had still half an hour
or more on my hands before luncheon, so I
thought I would wend my way to the billiard-
room. If I found any one to play with, so
much the better. If not, I would practise difficult
cannons for half an hour or so, and in that
way get through the time.

Two people were in the room. A gentleman
and a lady. Jack Fortescue and Miss
Crawcour. They were standing together at the
further end of the table. Both had cues in
their hands, and the balls were on the board,
but at the moment of my entrance they were