She refused it, but produced a cigar-case, embroidered with the arms of the NAPRAXINES, from which she took a very large cigar.

“I should like to take that fellow out on the river with me,” muttered one of the boating trio to his friends.

“And drown him,” said another.

“Or set Montmorency at him,” said the third.

These Three Men, who, on their arrival, had been rather bashful, had become, during the process of demolishing the Christmas pudding with fire-brandy sauce, to which they helped themselves plentifully, the most cheerful of all the company.  They talked and laughed loudly, alluded to Mr. Elsmere as “Old Square-toes”; and made no more disguise of the evident admiration with which Mrs. HAWKSBEE had inspired them, than they did of the violent dislike they had conceived for Mr. Gray.

They were growing less and less able to control their actions, and I was not sorry when the time arrived for the ladies to retire, which they did rather earlier than they had intended doing, owing to a sudden display of ill-temper on the part of Diana of the Crossways.  They all withdrew, with the exception of the Princess, who, alleging that it was a Russian custom, remained with us, smoking, and drinking kuemmel out of a Samovar.  Immediately upon the departure of the ladies, Robert Elsmere resumed his argument.

“I have not,” he said, in a low tone, “rooted up the most sacred growths of life as a careless child devastates his garden.”

“I have never yet heard of a DURRISDEER who was a turn-coat or a spy,” remarked the Master of BALLANTREE, casually.

“Ah! but that is another story,” objected Colonel Gadsby, stroking his long moustache.

“I can believe anything,” said Dorian Gray, “as long as it is quite incredible.”

“Oh!  Then you’d believe that story old Batt, the fisherman, told us about the pike at Goring!” said one of the trio, with a contemptuous laugh.

And here we come to the unfortunate incident which broke up our party.  I shall always blame the Princess for this.  If she had gone to the drawing-room with the other ladies, it would never have happened.  It appears that she considered herself insulted by a remark of DORIAN’s, which I thought innocent enough.  I think it was, that “All Art is quite useless.”

Why she should have taken this so personally—­whether she thought he was alluding to her Narcissus-like complexion, or her wealth of luminous hair—­I cannot say.  At any rate—­though I would not have it even whispered to poor little Jim, who, being far from well, had been quite unable to leave his sofa,—­I say, at any rate, I, for one, felt convinced that the Princess had taken quite as much kuemmel as was good for her, otherwise, how could any one, except my old friend Alice de VONDERLAND account for her urging the Three Men, already far gone, to go still farther, and to “Protect her honour,” as she termed it, “by wiping out the insult offered to the NAPRAXINES!”