Sir Telegraph looked earnestly at the stranger, but was too polite to laugh, though he could not help thinking there was something very ludicrous in Sir Oran’s physiognomy, notwithstanding the air of high fashion which characterised his whole deportment, and which was heightened by a pair of enormous whiskers, and the folds of a vast cravat. He therefore bowed to Sir Oran with becoming gravity, and Sir Oran returned the bow with very striking politeness. ‘Possibly,’ thought Sir Telegraph, ‘possibly I may have seen an uglier fellow.’ The trio entered the abbey, and shortly after sat down to dinner. Mr. Forester and Sir Oran Haut-ton took the head and foot of the table. Sir Telegraph sat between them. ‘Some soup, Sir Telegraph?’ said Mr. Forester. ‘I rather think,’ said Sir Telegraph, ‘I shall trouble Sir Oran for a slice of fish.’ Sir Oran helped him with great dexterity, and then performed the same office for himself. ‘I think you will like this Madeira?’ said Mr. Forester. ‘Capital!’ said Sir Telegraph: ‘Sir Oran, shall I have the pleasure of taking wine with you?’ Sir Oran Haut-ton bowed gracefully to Sir Telegraph Paxarett, and the glasses were tossed off with the usual ceremonies. Sir Oran preserved an inflexible silence during the whole duration of dinner, but showed great proficiency in the dissection of game. [Illustration: _Sir Oran took a flying leap through the window._] When the cloth was removed, the wine circulated freely, and Sir Telegraph, as usual, filled a numerous succession of glasses. Mr. Forester, not as usual, did the same; for he was generally very abstemious in this respect; but, on the present occasion, he relaxed from his severity, quoting the _Placari genius festis impune diebus_, and the _Dulce est desipere in loco_, of Horace. Sir Oran likewise approved, by his practice, that he thought the wine particularly excellent, and _Beviamo tutti tre_ appeared to be the motto of the party. Mr. Forester inquired into the motives which had brought Sir Telegraph to Westmoreland; and Sir Telegraph entered into a rapturous encomium of the heiress of Melincourt which was suddenly cut short by Sir Oran, who, having taken a glass too much, rose suddenly from table, took a flying leap through the window, and went dancing along the woods like a harlequin. ‘Upon my word,’ said Sir Telegraph, ‘a devilish lively, pleasant fellow! Curse me if I know what to make of him.’ ‘I will tell you his history,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘by and by. In the meantime I must look after him, that he may neither do nor receive mischief. Pray take care of yourself till I return.’ Saying this, he sprang through the window after Sir Oran, and disappeared by the same track among the trees. ‘Curious enough!’ soliloquised Sir Telegraph; ‘however, not much to complain of, as the best part of the company is left behind: videlicet, the bottle.’ CHAPTER V SUGAR