"But," the landlord observed, as rounding off the subject, "we must, as I always say, give the devil his due; and as you are going so soon to make his acquaintance, you will be able to judge for yourself."
Peckover turned away from what he could only consider as a corpulent and highly objectionable jester, and passed a shaking hand across his clammy brow. "I must stop these funniments," he told himself, "if I want any appetite for my last dinner." With a supreme effort he pulled himself together, and faced the fatuously grinning host with a dash of his native impudence. "Don't let me keep you, landlord," he said with a wave of condescension. "Nothing suits me so well as a pretty girl waiting on me. That's the relish for this customer, it beats all your Worcesters and Harveys."
Popkiss rubbed his puffy hands appreciatively. "My daughter, sir, that is, my lord; she shall look after your lordship." Then in a tone of deferential confidence, he added, "She will follow later on where you are going to."
"The deuce she will!" cried the guest, now fairly bewildered. "What has she been up to?"
The rotund landlord, not quite seeing the appropriateness of the inquiry, and perhaps feeling that it was a form of snubbing for undue familiarity, abruptly changed the subject. "I hope you'll like your dinner, my lord," he said with unctuous confidence as he waddled towards the door. "I know one thing," he chuckled.
"What's that?" Peckover asked half apprehensively.
"Your lordship won't want any supper." With which parting and equivocal witticism the expansive joker vanished.
"Whew! There he goes again," gasped Peckover, dropping limply into the nearest chair. "He has made me tremble all over." He gave a wild glance at the grey church tower looming—frowning, it seemed—cold and depressing. "George! I've a good mind to stop alive and risk it."
The entrance of Miss Popkiss with an array of dishes which might have elucidated the landlord's parting remark, and with a new bow in her hair, brought the guest up to attention again. Hungry, tired and especially thirsty, he lost no time in falling to, and so intent was he upon the good cheer before him that for a time the Hebe became aggrieved at the thought that the extra attention to her personal appearance had been thrown away, and the aid of curling tongs and smart ribbon been invoked to no purpose. However, with the second glass of champagne, the guest manifestly began to take more interest in things in general and of the expectant handmaiden in particular.
"Ah!" he exclaimed with a lengthy expiration of quasi-content, as Miss Popkiss deftly and with a flourish of the bangle on the wrist that was more in evidence, removed the fish and set the fowl before him. "I'm beginning to feel better." He tossed off another glass of champagne. "I say, my dear, your father is a cheerful person. His conversation is enough to make a boiled cod-fish shiver."