When the important meal was over, and the two gentlemen sat by the fire over their wine, they had a long dinner-talk about Scott of the 27th and Wood of the 40th--and that fine fellow Simeon, who was forming the troop of Irregulars, you know--and poor Peter, who lost his majority by that ugly accident, and only recovered to see his juniors passed before him--and Hodgson, who came home on sick leave--and Roberts, who had got cadetships for all his five sons. When that highly interesting and satisfactory talk flagged with the removal of the cloth, and the departure of the servants, Colonel Sutherland began to grow a little anxious about his _protegé_. Poor Roger, though Sir John might be very willing to befriend him, evidently occupied a very small place in the baronet's memory. The Colonel cracked some nuts very slowly, and fell into silence. His visitor lost in the depths of that easy chair--the Colonel's own chair--which the selfish little man, in the most entire disregard of prescriptive rights, had unfeelingly appropriated, looked round him with perfect comfort and satisfaction. In the momentary silence, the crackle of the fire, the deliberate crack, crack of Colonel Sutherland's nutcrackers, the faint sound of the breeze outside, combined to heighten the tranquillity, ease, and uninterrupted comfort of the scene. "By George!" cried Sir John, suddenly starting up with an action so impetuous that he almost upset his wine, and caused the Colonel to stop short in his occupation, holding out his nutcracker in one hand, putting the other to his ear, and looking with a startled glance over the top of his spectacles. "This time last night I was tossing on your detestable German ocean, wishing you and your house far enough, and as sick as--as--as an unfortunate traveller could be. I think this a very agreeable contrast. Though you do throw your boys in my teeth, old fellow, here's prosperity and happiness to Milnehill!" "And a very hearty welcome to my old comrade," said the Colonel, stretching out his kind hand. Settling down after this little effusion, cost the English temper of the guest a few minutes silence. Then he resumed upon the business of the night:-- "Now, Sutherland, about this boy. I think that was a very proper letter of his, do you know; I like him the better for having written it: I should have done the same thing in his place. The young fellow of course has done something to bring us into mud and bother by this time; of course he has--what's the good of making a bolt if nothing comes of it? I incline with you to think he's gone into the Guards."