Lupex was not an ill-natured man, nor one naturally savage by disposition.  He was a man fond of sweetbread and little dinners, and one to whom hot brandy-and-water was too dear.  Had the wife of his bosom been a good helpmate to him, he might have gone through the world, if not respectably, at any rate without open disgrace.  But she was a woman who left a man no solace except that to be found in brandy-and-water.  For eight years they had been man and wife; and sometimes—­I grieve to say it—­he had been driven almost to hope that she would commit a married woman’s last sin, and leave him.  In his misery, any mode of escape would have been welcome to him.  Had his energy been sufficient he would have taken his scene-painting capabilities off to Australia,—­or to the farthest shifting of scenes known on the world’s stage.  But he was an easy, listless, self-indulgent man; and at any moment, let his misery be as keen as might be, a little dinner, a few soft words, and a glass of brandy-and-water would bring him round.  The second glass would make him the fondest husband living; but the third would restore to him the memory of all his wrongs, and give him courage against his wife or all the world,—­even to the detriment of the furniture around him, should a stray poker chance to meet his hand.  All these peculiarities of his character were not, however, known to Cradell; and when our friend saw him enter the drawing-room with his wife on his arm, he was astonished.

“Mr Cradell, your hand,” said Lupex, who had advanced as far as the second glass of brandy-and-water, but had not been allowed to go beyond it.  “There has been a misunderstanding between us; let it be forgotten.”

“Mr Cradell, if I know him,” said the lady, “is too much the gentleman to bear any anger when a gentleman has offered him his hand.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Cradell, “I’m quite—­indeed, I’m delighted to find there’s nothing wrong after all.”  And then he shook hands with both of them; whereupon Miss Spruce got up, curtseyed low, and also shook hands with the husband and wife.

“You’re not a married man, Mr Cradell,” said Lupex, “and therefore you cannot understand the workings of a husband’s heart.  There have been moments when my regard for that woman has been too much for me.”

“Now, Lupex, don’t,” said she, playfully tapping him with an old parasol which she still held.

“And I do not hesitate to say that my regard for her was too much for me on that night when I sent for you to the dining-room.”

“I’m glad it’s all put right now,” said Cradell.

“Very glad, indeed,” said Miss Spruce.

“And, therefore, we need not say any more about it,” said Mrs Lupex.

“One word,” said Lupex, waving his hand.  “Mr Cradell, I greatly rejoice that you did not obey my summons on that night.  Had you done so,—­I confess it now,—­had you done so, blood would have been the consequence.  I was mistaken.  I acknowledge my mistake;—­but blood would have been the consequence.”