Lady Lisle had not looked at herself in the glass, and her husband's words came so aptly, rousing such a feeling of wonder in her that she involuntarily turned sharply to glance in one of the long mirrors and see a reflection in the crossed light of the artificial and the real coming from candle and break of day, that she felt horrified, and once more ejaculated "Oh!" "Yes. Oh, indeed!" cried Sir Hilton, grasping at his advantage. "Pray, madam, will you be good enough to explain." Lady Tilborough, who had drawn back behind the couch to give the principals in this domestic scene room to develop their quarrel, exchanged mirthful glances with the doctor. "Taking the bull by the horns," whispered Granton. "Cow!" whispered back Lady Tilborough, correctively, and she laid her hands upon the piled-up Polar bear skin to support herself, but snatched them away with a look of alarm at the doctor, one which changed to a glance full of inquiry, his answer from a yard or so away being a gesture with the hands which, being interpreted, meant, Haven't the least idea. But he moved a little nearer, touched the skin, and then whispered the one word: "Dog!" Lady Tilborough felt comforted, nodded her head and turned her eyes from the doctor to watch the domestic scene, and then felt uncomfortable, for she found that Lady Lisle's attention had been drawn to what was going on between her and the doctor concerning the strangely piled-up hill of white fur, and her dark eyes were now fixed upon her uninvited visitor with a furious look of suspiciously jealous rage. Lady Lisle saw in all this a means of making a counter attack upon her husband's desperate assault, and she seized upon the weapon proffered by fate at once. "Don't add insult to injury before these friends of yours, sir," she cried, fully equipped now for the counter attack; "and pray do not imagine that you have blinded me by this contemptible dust you are trying to throw in my eyes." "Dust, madam?" cried Sir Hilton, some what staggered by the reaction that had taken place. "Yes, sir--dust. You forget that I was a witness to your appearance in that den of infamy." "Den of infamy, madam?" "Yes, sir; den of infamy--disgracefully inebriated." "Oh, poor old Hilton!" whispered Granton. "I must--" "Silence!" cried Lady Lisle, turning upon the speaker, in the tones and with the air of a tragedy queen, her eyes flashing again as she saw a peculiar movement beneath the Polar bear skin, from the bottom of which there was the sudden protrusion of a very prettily-booted little foot. "Yes, Sir Hilton," continued Lady Lisle, pressing her hands upon her heaving bosom to keep down the seething passion. "I repeat, disgracefully inebriated, dressed in the low, flaunting guise of a jockey." "Oh, dear," groaned Sir Hilton, completely taken aback.