He accepted ungraciously, remarking that he was not used to late hours.

He had generally a bit of supper about half-past eight or nine.
However.

.

.
He gazed contemptuously round the prettily decorated dining-room.

He wrinkled his nose in a puzzled way at the dishes offered to him by the waiter but refused none, devouring the food with a great appetite and drinking ("swilling" Fyne called it) gallons of ginger beer, which was procured for him (in stone bottles) at his request.