To his question as to my dinner, I carelessly said, as if I were in a West-end club, “Never mind soup,--a little fish,--a cutlet and a partridge. Or order it yourself,--I am indifferent.” The waiter had scarcely left the room when I was startled by the sound of voices so close to me as to seem at my side. They came from a little wooden balcony to the adjoining room, which, by its pretentious bow-window, I recognized to be the state apartment of the inn, and now in the possession of Lord Keldrum and his party. They were talking away in that gay, rattling, discursive fashion very young men do amongst each other, and discussed fishing-flies, the neighboring gentlemen's seats, and the landlady's niece. “By the way, Kel,” cried one, “it was in your visit to the bar that you met your priest, was n't it?” “Yes; I offered him a cigar, and we began to chat together, and so I asked him to dine with us to-day.” “And he refused?” “Yes; but he has since changed his mind, and sent a message to say he 'll be with us at eight”. “I should like to see your father's face, Kel, when he heard of your entertaining the Reverend Father Dyke at dinner.” “Well, I suppose he would say it was carrying conciliation a little too far; but as the adage says, _À la guerre_--” At this juncture, another burst in amongst them, calling out, “You 'd never guess who 's just arrived here, in strict incog., and having bribed Mike, the waiter, to silence. Burgoyne!” “Not Jack Burgoyne?” “Jack himself. I had the portrait so correctly drawn by the waiter, that there's no mistaking him; the long hair, green complexion, sheepish look, all perfect. He came on a hack, a little cream-colored pad he got at Dycer's, and fancies he's quite unknown.” “What _can_ he be up to now?” “I think I have it,” said his Lordship. “Courtenay has got two three-year-olds down here at his uncle's, one of them under heavy engagements for the spring meetings. Master Jack has taken a run down to have a look at them.” “By Jove, Kel, you 're right! he's always wide awake, and that stupid leaden-eyed look he has, has done him good service in the world.” “I say, old Oxley, shall we dash in and unearth him? Or shall we let him fancy that we know nothing of his being here at all?” “What does Hammond say?” “I'd say, leave him to himself,” replied a deep voice; “you can't go and see him without asking him to dinner; and he 'll walk into us after, do what we will.” “Not, surely, if we don't play,” said Oxley. “Would n't he, though? Why, he 'd screw a bet out of a bishop.” “I 'd do with him as Tomkinson did,” said his Lordship; “he had him down at his lodge in Scotland, and bet him fifty pounds that he could n't pass a week without a wager. Jack booked the bet and won it, and Tomkinson franked the company.”