No
wonder that Mrs. B. had "staked her existence" that night that she
had heard the area gate "go." When I consider the extremely free and
unconstrained manner in which I was received, poker and all, by that
assembly, my only surprise is that they did not signify their
arrivals by double knocks at the front door.
On one memorable night, and on one only, have I found it necessary to
use that formidable weapon which habit has rendered as familiar to my
hand as its flower to that of the Queen of Clubs.
The grey of morning had just begun to steal into our bedchamber, when
Mrs. B. ejaculated with unusual vigour, "Henry, Henry, they're in the
front drawing-room; and they've just knocked down the parrot screen."
"My love," I was about to observe, "your imaginative powers have now
arrived at the pitch of _clairvoyance_," when a noise from the room
beneath us, as if all the fireirons had gone off together with a
bang, compelled me to acknowledge, to myself at least, that there was
something in Mrs. B.'s alarms at last. I trod downstairs as
noiselessly as I could, and in almost utter darkness. The
drawing-room door was ajar, and through the crevice I could
distinguish, despite the gloom, as many as three muffled figures.
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