Repressing an inclination to laugh aloud, he stepped briskly forward.
Rickstead consisted of twenty or thirty scattered houses; an ancient, slumberous place, remarkable chiefly for its time-honoured inn, which stood at the crossing of two high roads.

The landlord had received notice that two gentlemen would dine under his roof, and the unwonted event was making quite a stir in the hostelry.

Quarrier walked in at about a quarter-past six, savoury odours saluted him from the threshold.

Glazzard had not yet arrived, but in less than five minutes a private carriage drew up to the door, and the friends hailed each other.
The room prepared for them lay well apart from the bar, with its small traffic.

A great fire had been blazing for an hour or two; and the table, not too large, was laid with the best service the house could afford--nothing very grand, to be sure, in these days of its decline, but the general effect was inviting to men with a good appetite and some historical imagination.
"A happy idea of yours!" said Glazzard, as he rubbed his hands before the great hearth.