“Dear, dear, dear,” said Miss Spruce.

“Miss Spruce,” continued Lupex, “there are moments when the heart becomes too strong for a man.”

“I dare say,” said Miss Spruce.

“Now, Lupex, that will do,” said his wife.

“Yes; that will do.  But I think it right to tell Mr Cradell that I am glad he did not come to me.  Your friend, Mr Cradell, did me the honour of calling on me at the theatre yesterday, at half-past four; but I was in the slings then and could not very well come down to him.  I shall be happy to see you both any day at five, and to bury all unkindness with a chop and glass at the Pot and Poker, in Bow Street.”

“I’m sure you’re very kind,” said Cradell.

“And Mrs Lupex will join us.  There’s a delightful little snuggery upstairs at the Pot and Poker; and if Miss Spruce will condescend to—­”

“Oh, I’m an old woman, sir.”

“No—­no—­no,” said Lupex, “I deny that.  Come, Cradell, what do you say?—­just a snug little dinner for four, you know.”

It was, no doubt, pleasant to see Mr Lupex in his present mood,—­much pleasanter than in that other mood of which blood would have been the consequence:  but pleasant as he now was, it was, nevertheless, apparent that he was not quite sober.  Cradell, therefore, did not settle the day for the little dinner; but merely remarked that he should be very happy at some future day.

“And now, Lupex, suppose you get off to bed,” said his wife.  “You’ve had a very trying day, you know.”

“And you, ducky?”

“I shall come presently.  Now don’t be making a fool of yourself, but get yourself off.  Come—­” and she stood close up against the open door, waiting for him to pass.

“I rather think I shall remain where I am, and have a glass of something hot,” said he.

“Lupex, do you want to aggravate me again?” said the lady, and she looked at him with a glance of her eye which he thoroughly understood.  He was not in a humour for fighting, nor was he at present desirous of blood; so he resolved to go.  But as he went he prepared himself for new battles.  “I shall do something desperate, I am sure; I know I shall,” he said, as he pulled off his boots.

“Oh, Mr Cradell,” said Mrs Lupex as soon as she had closed the door behind her retreating husband, “how am I ever to look you in the face again after the events of these last memorable days?” And then she seated herself on the sofa, and hid her face in a cambric handkerchief.

“As for that,” said Cradell, “what does it signify,—­among friends like us, you know?”

“But that it should be known at your office,—­as of course it is, because of the gentleman that went down to him at the theatre,—­I don’t think I shall ever survive it.”

“You see I was obliged to send somebody, Mrs Lupex.”

“I’m not finding fault, Mr Cradell.  I know very well that in my melancholy position I have no right to find fault, and I don’t pretend to understand gentlemen’s feelings towards each other.  But to have had my name mentioned up with yours in that way is—­ Oh!  Mr Cradell, I don’t know how I’m ever to look you in the face again.”  And again she buried hers in her pocket-handkerchief.