To this there was no reply from either quarter. Mr. Dennis, though a good-natured fellow enough, did not feel called upon to defend William Henry’s want of Shakespearean feeling against his parent, while Miss Margaret not only closed her mouth, but shut her eyes. If she slept, to judge by the expression of her face she had pleasant dreams; but it is possible she was only pretending to sleep, in order to chew the cud of some sweet thought at greater leisure. She disagreed with her uncle about the motive that was bringing William Henry to Stratford, but was quite content to accept the fact—of which she had previously been ignorant—without debate. She herself did not, I fear, care so much about Shakespeare as it behoved Mr. Samuel Erin’s niece to do; but from henceforth she looked forward with greater pleasure than she had done to this visit to his birthplace. Hungry as she had professed herself to be, she would no doubt have done justice to the ample, if somewhat solid, viands that were set before the coach passengers, and on which her uncle exercised his knife and fork like a man who knows he will be charged the same whether he eats much or little, but for an unlooked-for circumstance. Hardly had the meal commenced when the cheerful note of the horn announced the approach of a coach from some other quarter, the tenants of which presently crowded into the common dining-room. Among them was a young gentleman who, without a glance at beef or pasty, at once made up to our party of three. His first salutation, contrary to the laws of etiquette, was made to Mr. Erin. ‘Hollo!’ said that gentleman, unwillingly relinquishing his knife and holding out two fingers to the new-comer, ‘what brings _you_ here, sir?’ ‘The Banbury coach, sir. I came across country from Bristol in the hopes of catching you at this stage, which I have fortunately succeeded in doing.’ ‘Humph! it seems to me you must have come miles out of the way; however, since you _are_ here, you had better set-to on the victuals and save your supper at Stratford.’ Mr. Dennis shook hands with the young man cordially enough, and recommended the meat pie. Miss Margaret just lifted her eyes from her plate and gave him a smile of welcome, but at the same time she moved a little towards the top of the table, so as to leave a space for him on the other side of her, an invitation which he lost no time in accepting. A scornful poet, whose appetite was considerably jaded, has expressed his disgust at seeing women eat; but women, I have noticed, take great pleasure in seeing men, for whom they have any regard, relish a hearty meal. The new-comer ate as only a young gentleman who has travelled for hours on a coach-top can eat, and Margaret so enjoyed the spectacle that she neglected her own opportunities in that way, to watch him. ‘The ardour with which you attack that veal, Willie,’ she whispered slily, ‘reminds me of the Prodigal Son after his diet of husks.’