the meat-chopper with which the curate had been despatched in _The War
of the Worlds,_ but it was deposited in the South Kensington Museum
along with other mementoes of the Martian invasion. Besides, my wife and
I had both become Wegetarians.

The evening was still, and though distracted at times by recollections
of the Wenuses, I made good progress with my indictment. Suddenly I was
conscious of a pale pink glow which suffused my writing-pad, and I heard
a soft but unmistakable thud as of a pinguid body falling in the
immediate vicinity.

Taking off my boots, I stole gently down to the scullery and applied the
spectroscope to the keyhole. To my mingled amazement and ecstasy, I
perceived a large dome-shaped fabric blocking up the entire back garden.
Roughly speaking, it seemed to be about the size of a full-grown sperm
whale. A faint heaving was perceptible in the mass, and further
evidences of vitality were forthcoming in a gentle but pathetic
crooning, as of an immature chimæra booming in the void. The truth
flashed upon me in a moment. The Second Crinoline had fallen in my back
garden.

My mind was instantly made up. To expose myself unarmed to the
fascination of the Wonderful Wisitors would have irreparably prejudiced
the best interests of scientific research. My only hope lay in a
complete disguise which should enable me to pursue my investigations of
the Wenuses with the minimum amount of risk. A student of the humanities
would have adopted a different method, but my standpoint has always been
dispassionate, anti-sentimental. My feelings towards the Wenuses were,
incredible as it may seem, purely Platonic. I recognised their
transcendental attractions, but had no desire to succumb to them.