The young ladies looked at each other, and then at mamma, who, seeing what was wanted, looked at papa, and asked, ’if he was going to ask Lord Scamperdale over?’ Amelia, among her many ‘presentiments,’ had long enjoyed one that she was destined to be Lady Scamperdale.

‘No—­over—­no,’ snapped Jawleyford; ‘what should put that in your head?’

’Oh, I thought as Mr. Sponge was here, you might think it a good time to ask him.’

‘His lordship knows he can come when he likes,’ replied Jawleyford, adding, ‘it’s to put that Mr. John Spraggon off, who thinks he may do the same.’

‘Mr. Spraggon!’ exclaimed both the young ladies.  ’Mr. Spraggon!—­what should set him here?’

‘What, indeed?’ asked Jawleyford.

‘Poor man!  I dare say there’s no harm in him,’ observed Mrs. Jawleyford, who was always ready for anybody.

‘No good either,’ replied Jawleyford—­’at all events, we’ll be just as well without him.  You know him, don’t you?’ added he, turning to Sponge—­’great coarse man in spectacles.’

‘Oh yes, I know him,’ replied Sponge; ‘a great ruffian he is, too,’ added he.

‘One ought to be in robust health to encounter such a man,’ observed Jawleyford, ’and have time to get a man or two of the same sort to meet him. We can do nothing with such a man.  I can’t understand how his lordship puts up with such a fellow.’

‘Finds him useful, I suppose,’ observed Mr. Sponge.

Spigot presently appeared with a massive silver salver, bearing tumblers, sugar, lemon, nutmeg, and other implements of negus.

‘Will you join me in a little wine-and-water?’ asked Jawleyford, pointing to the apparatus and bottle ends, ’or will you have a fresh bottle?—­plenty in the cellar,’ added he, with a flourish of his hand, though he kept looking steadfastly at the negus-tray.

’Oh—­why—­I’m afraid—­I doubt—­I think I should hardly be able to do justice to a bottle single-handed,’ replied Sponge.  ‘Then have negus,’ said Jawleyford; ’you’ll find it very refreshing; medical men recommend it after violent exercise in preference to wine.  But pray have wine if you prefer it.’

‘Ah—­well, I’ll finish off with a little negus, perhaps,’ replied Sponge, adding, ‘meanwhile the ladies, I dare say, would like a little wine.’

‘The ladies drink white wine—­sherry,’ rejoined Jawleyford, determined to make a last effort to save his port.  ’However, you can have a bottle of port to yourself, you know.’

‘Very well,’ said Sponge.

‘One condition I must attach,’ said Mr. Jawleyford, ’which is, that you finish the bottle.  Don’t let us have any waste, you know.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Sponge, determined to have it; whereupon Mr. Jawleyford growled the word ‘Port’ to the butler, who had been witnessing his master’s efforts to direct attention to the negus.  Thwarted in his endeavour, Jawleyford’s headache became worse, and the ladies, seeing how things were going, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving our hero to his fate.