‘But that need make no difference,’ replied Sponge; ‘I’ll go too.’

Jawleyford was taken aback.  He had not calculated upon so much coolness.

‘Well,’ stammered he, ’that might do, to be sure; but—­if—­I’m not quite sure that I could take any one—­’

‘But if you’re as thick as you say, you can have no difficulty,’ replied our friend.

‘True,’ replied Jawleyford; ’but then we go a large party ourselves—­two and two’s four,’ said he, ’to say nothing of servants; besides, his lordship mayn’t have room—­house will most likely be full.’

‘Oh, a single man can always be put up; shake-down—­anything does for him,’ replied Sponge.  ‘But you would lose your hunting,’ replied Jawleyford.  ‘Barkington Tower is quite out of Lord Scamperdale’s country.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ replied Sponge, adding, ’I don’t think I’ll trouble his lordship much more.  These Flat Hat gentlemen are not over and above civil, in my opinion.’

‘Well,’ replied Jawleyford, nettled at this thwarting of his attempt, ’that’s for your consideration.  However, as you’ve come, I’ll talk to Mrs. Jawleyford, and see if we can get off the Barkington expedition.’

‘But don’t get off on my account,’ replied Sponge.  ’I can stay here quite well.  I dare say you’ll not be away long.’

This was worse still; it held out no hope of getting rid of him.  Jawleyford therefore resolved to try and smoke and starve him out.  When our friend went to dress, he found his old apartment, the state-room, put away, the heavy brocade curtains brown-hollanded, the jugs turned upside down, the bed stripped of its clothes and the looking-glass laid a-top of it.

The smirking housemaid, who was just rolling the fire-irons up in the hearth-rug, greeted him with a ’Please, sir, we’ve shifted you into the brown room, east,’ leading the way to the condemned cell that ‘Jack’ had occupied, where a newly lit fire was puffing out dense clouds of brown smoke, obscuring even the gilt letters on the back of Mogg’s Cab Fares, as the little volume lay on the toilet-table.

‘What’s happened now?’ asked our friend of the maid, putting his arm round her waist, and giving her a hearty squeeze.  ’What’s happened now, that you’ve put me into this dog-hole?’ asked he.

‘Oh!  I don’t know,’ replied she, laughing; ’I s’pose they’re afraid you’ll bring the old rotten curtains down in the other room with smokin’.  Master’s a sad old wife,’ added she.

A great change had come over everything.  The fare, the lights, the footmen, the everything, underwent grievous diminution.  The lamps were extinguished, and the transparent wax gave way to Palmer’s composites, under the mild influence of whose unsearching light the young ladies sported their dashed dresses with impunity.  Competition between them, indeed, was about an end.  Amelia claimed Mr. Sponge, should he be worth having, and should the Scamperdale scheme fail; while Emily, having her mamma’s assurance that he would not do for either of them, resigned herself complacently to what she could not help.