"Well, you pretty little devil, what can you do for me--hey? You know we're old friends--hey? What have you got for a hungry fellow? and don't stand at the door there, hang it--come in, can't you? and let me hear what you say." So Mrs. Jones, with a simpering bashfulness, delivered her bill of fare off book. The Baronet was a gallant English gentleman, and came of a healthy race, though there were a 'beau' and an archbishop in the family; he could rough it good-humouredly on beefsteak and port, and had an accommodating appetite as to hours. "That will do very nicely, my dear, thank you. You're just the same dear hospitable little rogue I remember you--how long is it, by Jove, since I stopped here that day, and the awful thunderstorm at night, don't you recollect? and the whole house in such a devil of a row, egad!" And the Baronet chuckled and leered, with his hands in his pockets. "Three years, by Jove, I think--eh?" "Four years in August last, Sir Jekyl," she answered, with a little toss of her head and a courtesy. "Four years, my dear--four devils! Is it possible? why upon my life it has positively improved you." And he tapped her cheek playfully with his finger. "And what o'clock is it?" he continued, looking at his watch, "just five. Well, I suppose you'll be ready in half-an-hour--eh, my dear?" "Sooner, if you wish, Sir Jekyl." "No, thank you, dear, that will do very nicely; and stay," he added, with a pluck at her pink ribbon, as she retreated: "you've some devilish good port here, unless it's all out--old Lord Hogwood's stock--eh?" "More than two dozen left, Sir Jekyl; would you please some?" "You've hit it, you wicked little conjurer--a bottle; and you must give me a few minutes after dinner, and a cup of coffee, and tell me all the news--eh?" The Baronet, standing on the threadbare hearthrug, looked waggishly, as it were, through the panels of the shut door, after the fluttering cap of his pretty landlady. Then he turned about and reviewed himself in the sea-green mirror over the chimneypiece, adjusted his curls and whiskers with a touch or two of his fingers' ends, and plucked a little at his ample silk necktie, and shook out his tresses, with his chin a little up, and a saucy simper. But a man tires even of that prospect; and he turned on his heel, and whistled at the smoky mezzotint of George III. on the opposite wall. Then he turned his head, and looked out through the bow-window, and his whistling stopped in the middle of a bar, at sight of a young man whom he espied, only a yard or two before the covered porch of the little inn. This young gentleman was, it seemed, giving a parting direction to some one in the doorway. He was tall, slender, rather dark, and decidedly handsome. There were, indeed, in his air, face, and costume, that indescribable elegance and superiority which constitute a man "distinguished looking."