"A fine host," sneered my Lord Denningham, with an oath,-"a right jovial and noble host, eh, Steenie? Demme it, man! I didn't come to this old rat-trap to look at you, and be poisoned with ragouts au Bourbon and cold shoulders à Varenac. What in the world is friend Morice up to?"
"Split me if I know," growled Sir Stephen, who was far from being