One thing was manifest to both of us, and that was, that until relief came, neither of us could relinquish the fire. There we stood, well squared up before it, shoulder to shoulder and foot to foot, with our hands behind us, not budging an inch. The horse was visible outside in the drizzle at the door, my breakfast was put on the table, Drummle's was cleared away, the waiter invited me to begin, I nodded, we both stood our ground.

     "Have you been to the Grove since?" said Drummle.

     "No," said I, "I had quite enough of the Finches the last time I was there."

     "Was that when we had a difference of opinion?"

     "Yes," I replied, very shortly.

     "Come, come! They let you off easily enough," sneered Drummle. "You shouldn't have lost your temper."

     "Mr. Drummle," said I, "you are not competent to give advice on that subject. When I lose my temper (not that I admit having done so on that occasion), I don't throw glasses."

     "I do," said Drummle.

     After glancing at him once or twice, in an increased state of smouldering ferocity, I said,--