by Sir Mathew, not by any means unpalatable. He accordingly made a
note, upon his shirt-cuff, of the amount necessary for a fatal dose,
put the books back in their places, and strolled up St. James's
Street, to Pestle and Humbey's, the great chemists. Mr. Pestle, who
always attended personally on the aristocracy, was a good deal
surprised at the order, and in a very deferential manner murmured
something about a medical certificate being necessary. However, as
soon as Lord Arthur explained to him that it was for a large
Norwegian mastiff that he was obliged to get rid of, as it showed
signs of incipient rabies, and had already bitten the coachman twice
in the calf of the leg, he expressed himself as being perfectly
satisfied, complimented Lord Arthur on his wonderful knowledge of
Toxicology, and had the prescription made up immediately.

Lord Arthur put the capsule into a pretty little silver bonbonniere
that he saw in a shop window in Bond Street, threw away Pestle and
Hambey's ugly pill-box, and drove off at once to Lady Clementina's.

'Well, monsieur le mauvais sujet,' cried the old lady, as he entered
the room, 'why haven't you been to see me all this time?'

'My dear Lady Clem, I never have a moment to myself,' said Lord
Arthur, smiling.

'I suppose you mean that you go about all day long with Miss Sybil
Merton, buying chiffons and talking nonsense? I cannot understand
why people make such a fuss about being married. In my day we never
dreamed of billing and cooing in public, or in private for that
matter.'