What farther she thought she did not say, but she was a woman who looked to natural gifts more than the gifts of accidents; and Evan’s chance stood high with her then.  So the battle of the Bull-dogs was fought, and cruelly as the Countess had been assailed and wounded, she gained a victory; yea, though Demogorgon, aided by the vindictive ghost of Sir Abraham, took tangible shape in the ranks opposed to her.  True, Lady Jocelyn, forgetting her own recent intrepidity, condemned her as a liar; but the fruits of the Countess’s victory were plentiful.  Drummond Forth, fearful perhaps of exciting unjust suspicions in the mind of Captain Evremonde, disappeared altogether.  Harry was in a mess which threw him almost upon Evan’s mercy, as will be related.  And, lastly, Ferdinand Laxley, that insufferable young aristocrat, was thus spoken to by Lady Jocelyn.

’This ’letter addressed to Lawson, telling him that his wife is here, is in your handwriting, Ferdinand.  I don’t say you wrote it—­I don’t think you could have written it.  But, to tell you the truth, I have an unpleasant impression about it, and I think we had better shake hands and not see each other for some time.’

Laxley, after one denial of his guilt, disdained to repeat it.  He met her ladyship’s hand haughtily, and, bowing to Sir Franks, turned on his heel.

So, then, in glorious complete victory, the battle of the Bull-dogs ended!

Of the close of the pic-nic more remains to be told.

For the present I pause, in observance of those rules which demand that after an exhibition of consummate deeds, time be given to the spectator to digest what has passed before him.

CHAPTER XXXII

IN WHICH EVANS LIGHT BEGINS TO TWINKLE AGAIN

The dowagers were now firmly planted on Olympus.  Along the grass lay the warm strong colours of the evening sun, reddening the pine-stems and yellowing the idle aspen-leaves.  For a moment it had hung in doubt whether the pic-nic could survive the two rude shocks it had received.  Happily the youthful element was large, and when the band, refreshed by chicken and sherry, threw off half-a-dozen bars of one of those irresistible waltzes that first catch the ear, and then curl round the heart, till on a sudden they invade and will have the legs, a rush up Parnassus was seen, and there were shouts and laughter and commotion, as over other great fields of battle the corn will wave gaily and mark the reestablishment of nature’s reign.

How fair the sight!  Approach the twirling couples.  They talk as they whirl.  ‘Fancy the run-away tailor!’ is the male’s remark, and he expects to be admired for it, and is.

’That make-up Countess—­his sister, you know—­didn’t you see her? she turned green,’ says Creation’s second effort, almost occupying the place of a rib.

‘Isn’t there a run-away wife, too?’