My first impulse was to pick it up; but then it struck me that Pettigrew had not noticed what had happened, and that, were he to see me pick it up, he might think that I had not taken sufficient care of it.

So I let it lie, and, bidding him good-night, went off to bed.

I was at the foot of the stair when I thought that, after all, I should like the tobacco, so I returned.
I could not see the package anywhere, but something was fizzing up the chimney, and Pettigrew had the tongs in his hand.

He muttered something about his wife taking up wrong notions.

Next morning that lady was very satirical about our having smoked the whole two ounces.
[Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXII.
HOW HEROES SMOKE.
On a tiger-skin from the ice-clad regions of the sunless north recline the heroes of Ouida, rose-scented cigars in their mouths; themselves gloriously indolent and disdainful, but perhaps huddled a little too closely together on account of the limited accommodation.