My lord there,' said he, pointing to the portrait, 'sent an account of it all to _Saunders_' newspaper.' While he left the room to fetch the ale, the travellers both fixed their eyes on the picture, and Walpole, rising, read out the inscription--'Viscount Kilgobbin.' 'There's no such title,' said the other bluntly.
'Lord Kilgobbin--Kilgobbin?
Where did I hear that name before ?' 'In a dream, perhaps.' 'No, no.

I _have_ heard it, if I could only remember where and how! I say, landlord, where does his lordship live ?' and he pointed to the portrait.
'Beyond, at the castle, sir.

You can see it from the door without when the weather's fine.' 'That must mean on a very rare occasion!' said Lockwood gravely.
'No indeed, sir.

It didn't begin to rain on Tuesday last till after three o'clock.' 'Magnificent climate!' exclaimed Walpole enthusiastically.
'It is indeed, sir.

Glory be to God!' said the landlord, with an honest gravity that set them both off laughing.
'How about this club--does it meet often ?' 'It used, sir, to meet every Thursday evening, and my lord never missed a night, but quite lately he took it in his head not to come out in the evenings.