id Mr. Marchdale at the window, "and Merivale
with him."

"Nunky," said the Viscount as they entered the hospitable portal of the
"George and Dragon," "Ben and Alvaston are set on seeing you
comfortably faxed to-night."

"Foxed? Ah, you mean drunk, Tom?"

"Perfectly sir, all in the way of friendship and good-fellowship of
course, still I thought I'd let you know."

"For the which I am duly and humbly grateful, Tom," answered the Major
as, opening the door, the Viscount bowed and stood aside to give him
precedence.

The Major's appearance was hailed with loud cheers and cries of
"Fighting d'Arcy," drowned all at once in a hoarse roar as, with a
tramp and jingle of heavy, spurred boots, Colonel Lord George Cleeve
ran at him, thumped him and clasped him in a bear's hug:

"'Tis the same Jack Grave-airs!" he cried, "the same sedate John! Ha,
damme, man-Jack, be curst if I don't joy to see thee again!"

"Why George!" exclaimed the Major, patting the Colonel's back with one
hand and gripping his fist with the other, "why Georgie, I do protest
thou'rt growing fat!"

"Burn thee for a vile-tongued rogue to say so, Jack! Ha, Jack, do ya'
mind that night in the trenches before Maastricht when we laid a trap
for young Despard of Ogle's and caught the Colonel? 'Twas next day we
stormed and ya' took a bayonet through your thigh----"

"And you brought me down from the breach George----"

"And cursed ya' heartily the while, I forget why but ya' deserved it!"

"Stay, George, supper is served I think, and let me introduce Viscount
Merivale"; which done he saluted the company and they forthwith sat
down to table.

And now corks squeaked and popped, servants and waiting-men bustled to
and fro, glasses clinked, knives and forks rattled merrily to the hum
of talk and ring of laughter.

"By the way, sir," said the Major, addressing his neighbour the
Marquis, "I don't--er--see Mr. Dalroyd here to-night."

"No more you do sir, strike me dumb! And for the sufficient reason he
ain't here. Dalroyd's a determined hunter o' feminine game sir, O dem!
To-night he's in full cry, I take it--joys o' the chase, sir--some
dainty bit o' rustic beauty--some shy doe----"

"I wonder who?" enquired the Viscount, stifling a yawn.

"Dalroyd's dev'lish close," answered Lord Alvaston, "close as 'n oyster
'sequently echo answers 'who?'"

"Gentlemen all," cried Sir Benjamin, "I rise to give you a name--to
call the toast of toasts. I give y