"Oh, sir," replied Mowbray, in a tone betwixt scorn and civility, "you cannot suppose the present company is alluded to; I only presumed to mention as a fact, that we have been annoyed with unqualified people shooting on our grounds, without either liberty or license. And I hope to have her sign taken down for it--that is all.--There was the same plague in my father's days, I think, Mick?" But Mr. Meiklewham, who did not like Tyrrel's looks so well as to induce him to become approver on the occasion, replied with an inarticulate grunt, addressed to the company, and a private admonition to his patron's own ear, "to let sleeping dogs lie." "I can scarce forbear the fellow," said St. Ronan's; "and yet I cannot well tell where my dislike to him lies--but it would be d----d folly to turn out with him for nothing; and so, honest Mick, I will be as quiet as I can." "And that you may be so," said Meiklewham, "I think you had best take no more wine." "I think so too," said the Squire; "for each glass I drink in his company gives me the heartburn--yet the man is not different from other raffs either--but there is a something about him intolerable to me." So saying, he pushed back his chair from the table, and--_regis ad exemplar_--after the pattern of the Laird, all the company arose. Sir Bingo got up with reluctance, which he testified by two or three deep growls, as he followed the rest of the company into the outer apartment, which served as an entrance-hall, and divided the dining-parlour from the tea-room, as it was called. Here, while the party were assuming their hats, for the purpose of joining the ladies' society, (which old-fashioned folk used only to take up for that of going into the open air,) Tyrrel asked a smart footman, who stood near, to hand him the hat which lay on the table beyond. "Call your own servant, sir," answered the fellow, with the true insolence of a pampered menial. "Your master," answered Tyrrel, "ought to have taught you good manners, my friend, before bringing you here." "Sir Bingo Binks is my master," said the fellow, in the same insolent tone as before. "Now for it, Bingie," said Mowbray, who was aware that the Baronet's pot-courage had arrived at fighting pitch. "Yes!" said Sir Bingo aloud, and more articulately than usual--"The fellow is my servant--what has any one to say to it?" "I at least have my mouth stopped," answered Tyrrel, with perfect composure. "I should have been surprised to have found Sir Bingo's servant better bred than himself." "What d'ye mean by that, sir?" said Sir Bingo, coming up in an offensive attitude, for he was no mean pupil of the Fives-Court--"What d'ye mean by that? D----n you, sir! I'll serve you out before you can say dumpling." "And I, Sir Bingo, unless you presently lay aside that look and manner, will knock you down before you can cry help."