Mr. Pomeroy silenced him by a gesture.  ‘No,’ he said; ’we are not staying.  But you have some guests here, who arrived half an hour ago?’

‘To be sure, your honour.  The same I was naming.’  ’Is there a young lady with them?’

The landlord looked hard at him.  ‘A young lady?’ he said.

‘Yes!  Are you deaf, man?’ Pomeroy retorted wrathfully, his impatience getting the better of him.  ’Is there a young lady with them?  That is what I asked.’

But the landlord still stared; and it was only after an appreciable interval that he answered cautiously:  ’Well, to be sure, I am not—­I am not certain.  I saw none, sir.  But I only saw the gentlemen when they had gone upstairs.  William admitted them, and rang up the stables.  A young lady?’ he continued, rubbing his head as if the question perplexed him.  ‘May I ask, is’t some one your honour is seeking?’

‘Damme, man, should I ask if it weren’t?’ Mr. Pomeroy retorted angrily.  ’If you must know, it is this gentleman’s daughter, who has run away from her friends.’

‘Dear, dear!’

‘And taken up with a beggarly Irishman!’

The landlord stared from one to the other in great perplexity.  ’Dear me!’ he said.  ‘That is sad!  The gentleman’s daughter!’ And he looked at Mr. Thomasson, whose fat sallow face was sullenness itself.  Then, remembering his manners, ‘Well, to be sure, I’ll go and learn,’ he continued briskly.  ‘Charles!’ to a half-dressed waiter, who at that moment appeared at the foot of the stairs, ’set lights in the Yarmouth and draw these gentlemen what they require.  I’ll not be many minutes, Mr. Pomeroy.’

He hurried up the narrow staircase, and an instant later appeared on the threshold of a room in which sat two gentlemen, facing one another in silence before a hastily-kindled fire.  They had travelled together from Bristol, cheek by jowl in a post-chaise, exchanging scarce as many words as they had traversed miles.  But patience, whether it be of the sullen or the dignified cast, has its limits; and these two, their tempers exasperated by a chilly journey taken fasting, had come very near to the end of sufferance.  Fortunately, at the moment Mr. Dunborough—­for he was the one—­made the discovery that he could not endure Sir George’s impassive face for so much as the hundredth part of another minute—­and in consequence was having recourse to his invention for the most brutal remark with which to provoke him—­the port and the landlord arrived together; and William, who had carried up the cold beef and stewed kidneys by another staircase, was heard on the landing.  The host helped to place the dishes on the table.  Then he shut out his assistant.

‘By your leave, Sir George,’ he said diffidently.  ’But the young lady you were inquiring for?  Might I ask—?’

He paused as if he feared to give offence.  Sir George laid down his knife and fork and looked at him.  Mr. Dunborough did the same.  ’Yes, yes, man,’ Soane said.  ‘Have you heard anything?  Out with it!’