in the police to
make you."

Amelia, as at this period of the fight she stood fronting her foe
with her arms akimbo, certainly seemed to have the best of the
battle. But the bitterness of Mrs Lupex's tongue had hardly yet
produced its greatest results. I am inclined to think that the
married lady would have silenced her who was single, had the
fight been allowed to rage,--always presuming that no resort to
grappling-irons took place. But at this moment Mrs Roper entered the
room, accompanied by her son, and both the combatants for a moment
retreated.

"Amelia, what's all this?" said Mrs Roper, trying to assume a look of
agonised amazement.

"Ask Mrs Lupex," said Amelia.

"And Mrs Lupex will answer," said that lady. "Your daughter has come
in here, and attacked me--in such language--before Mr Cradell too--"

"Why doesn't she pay what she owes, and leave the house?" said
Amelia.

"Hold your tongue," said her brother. "What she owes is no affair of
yours."

"But it's an affair of mine, when I'm insulted by such a creature as
that."

"Creature!" said Mrs Lupex. "I'd like to know which is most like
a creature! But I'll tell you what it is, Amelia Roper--" Here,
however, her eloquence was stopped, for Amelia had disappeared
through the door, having been pushed out of the room by her brother.
Whereupon Mrs Lupex, having found a sofa convenient for the service,
betook herself to hysterics. There for the moment we will leave her,
hoping that poor Mrs Roper was not kept late out of her bed.

"What a deuce of a mess Eames will make of it if he marries that
girl!" Such was Cradell's reflection as he betook himself to his own
room. But of his own part in the night's transactions he was rather
proud than otherwise, feeling that the married lady's regard for him
had been the cause of the battle which had raged. So, likewise, did
Paris derive much gratification from the ten years' siege of Troy.

CHAPTER XII

Lilian Dale Becomes a Butterfly

And now we will go back to Allington. The same morning that brought
to John Eames the two letters which were given in the last chapter
but one, brought to the Great House, among others, the following
epistle for Adolphus Crosbie. It was from a countess, and was written
on pink paper, beautifully creamlaid and scented, ornamented with a
coronet and certain singularly-entwined initials. Altogether, the
letter was very fashionable and attractive, and Adolphus Crosbie was
by