I am sorry to say that the Admiral, instead of defending Mrs. Buzza, began to exculpate Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.

“But your wife is so charming, so—­”

“Of course, my dear sir; so is Mrs. Buzza.”

“She was termed the ‘Belle of Portsmouth’ at the Ball where I proposed to her,” remarked the Admiral, with some complacency.

“To be sure; trust a sailor to catch the pretty girls—­eh?”

The Admiral chuckled feebly.

“But these women—­”

“Ah! yes; these women—­”

“Bachelor life was pleasant—­eh, Admiral?”

“Ah!”

The two men looked at each other.  A smile spread over either countenance.  I regret to say the Admiral winked, and then chuckled again.

“Admiral, you must get up.”

The Admiral stared interrogatively; his visitor pursued, with some inconsequence—­“By the way, is there a club here?”

“There’s the ‘Jolly Trojans’ down at the ‘Man-o’-War’; they meet on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and—­”

“Low lot, I suppose?”

“Well, yes,” admitted the Admiral; “a certain amount of good fellowship prevails, I understand; but low, of course—­distinctly low.”

The Honourable Frederic tapped his boot reflectively with his malacca.

“Admiral,” he said at last, “you ought to found a Club here.”

“Bless my heart!  I never thought of it.”

“It is your duty.”

“You think so?”

“Sure of it.”

“I will get up,” said the Admiral decisively.  He started out of bed, and looked around for his clothes.

“Nice place, the country,” pursued the Honourable Frederic thoughtfully; “fresh eggs, and grass to clean your pipe with—­but apt to be dull.  Now, a pleasant little society; cards, billiards, and social reunions—­select, of course—­”

“Of course.  Do you happen to be sitting on my trousers?”

“Eh?  No, I believe—­no.  Let me see—­limited loo and a modest pool of an evening.  Hullo! what’s the matter?”

The Admiral had rushed to the door.

“Emily!” he bawled down the stairs.

“Well, I’ll be going.  Can’t find your trousers?  Admiral, it’s the last straw.  But we’ll be revenged, Admiral.  We’ll found a Club; and, by George, sir, we’ll call it ‘The Inexpressibles’!  Ta-ta for the present,” and Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys retired.

But what was being discussed below when the Admiral’s voice disturbed his wife?  Alas! you shall hear.

“These men,” Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys was saying, “are all alike.  But, my dear, why not disregard his absurd humours?  I have revolted from Frederic long ago.”

“You don’t say so!”

“It is a fact.  Take my advice and do the same.  It needs courage at first, but they are all cowards—­oh, such cowards, my dear!  Revolt.  Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip—­”

“My dear, I should faint.”

“Oh, poor soul!  Reflect!  How pretty the domestic virtues are, but how impossible!  Besides, how unfashionable!”