“A male friend, _of course_. He takes snuff, for I have seen him do it; and this, between ourselves, is a far dirtier habit than smoking. I hate snuff; it always reminds me of a lecture I once heard upon that subject in America. The lecturer was a methodist; and he spoke very vehemently against the use of tobacco in any shape; but snuff-taking seemed to rouse him up, and inflame his indignation to a pitch of enthusiasm. ‘If the Almighty,’ he said, ‘had intended a man’s nose for a dust-hole, he would have turned up the nostrils the other way.’ These were his very words; and to me they were so convincing, that I discarded from that moment all idea of becoming a snuff-taker.” Wilhelmina emptied her tumbler of brandy and water, which she as quickly replenished. These strong potations began to take effect—her eyes danced in her head, and she became so strangely excited, that Flora wished devoutly that she was safe at home. Presently her odd companion laid aside her pipe, pushed from before her the now empty tumbler, and, rising abruptly, exclaimed— “I’ve had enough.” Flora thought that she might have come to that conclusion half an hour before. “I’m not intoxicated,” she said: “I only drink enough to raise my spirits, and drive away the blue devils. And now for a little music.” She sat down to the piano. “I play entirely from ear, Mrs. Lyndsay; I leave you to judge if I have not an exquisite taste. Here is a march I composed this morning for Captain Lyndsay’s black regiment—Hottentot of course. You say he plays well himself. He cannot fail to admire it. I will write it out for him to-morrow.” Of all Miss Carr’s strange whims, the idea she entertained of her being a great musician, was the most absurd. She rattled over the keys at a tremendous rate, striking them with such force that she made the instrument shake. It was a mad revel—a hurricane of sound, yet, not without a certain degree of eccentric talent. In the midst of a tremendous passage there came a knock at the door. “That’s my husband,” said Flora, rising, glad to get away. It was only the maid. “You are no prophet,” said Miss Carr, rattling on; “you must stay till I give you _Napoleon’s Passage of the Alps_. I wrote it on the spot. It is a grand thing. I mean to publish it one of these days.” Flora said, “that she should be happy to hear it some other time. It was late. She was anxious to get home.” “Be off with you then,” said Wilhelmina, laughing, “and don’t tell me any white lies, or try and convince your good man, that I have been endeavouring to corrupt your morals.” Lyndsay was amused, but not much pleased, with the account his wife gave him of her visit to Miss Carr. “You must drop that woman’s acquaintance, if possible,” said he. “Whether insane, or only eccentric, any particular intimacy with her must be attended with unpleasant consequences.”