54 Simpson's snipe 



very thoughtless of you ; " and my wife's nez re- 

 trouss6 went up at a very acute angle, whilst a 

 general hardness of expression settled itself upon 

 her countenance, like a plaster cast. 



I had a bad case. I had been dining with a 

 friend, my friend Captain de Britska. I had taken 

 sherry with my soup, hock with my fish, champagne 

 with my entree, and a nip of brandy before my 

 claret. What I imbibed after the Lafitte I scarcely 

 remember. Mr Simpson was of the party, and sat 

 next to me. He forced a succession of cigars into 

 my mouth, and subsequently a mixture of tobacco, 

 a special thing. (What smoker, by the way, hasn't 

 a special thing in the shape of a mixture ? what 

 gourmet has no special tip as regards salad-dressing ?) 

 We spoke of shooting. He asked me if I had any. 

 I replied in the affirmative, expressing a hope that 

 he would at some time or other practically discuss 

 that fact. Somehow I was led into a direct invita- 

 tion, and this was the outcome. I had committed 

 myself beneath my friend's mahogany, and under 

 the influence of my friend's generous wine. I was 

 in a corner ; and now, ye gods ! I had to face 

 Mrs Smithe. There are moments when a man's 

 wife is simply awful. Snugly entrenched behind 

 the unassailable line of defence, duty, and with 

 such " Woolwich Infants " as her children to hurl 



