with an enormous plume, old Jawleyford (father of the present one) in the Windsor uniform, and our friend himself, the very prototype of what then stood before them.  Indeed, he had been painted in the act of addressing his hereditary chawbacons in the hall in which the picture was suspended.  There he stood, with his bright auburn hair (now rather badger-pied, perhaps, but still very passable by candlelight)—­his bright auburn hair, we say, swept boldly off his lofty forehead, his hazy grey eyes flashing with the excitement of drink and animation, his left hand reposing on the hip of his well-fitting black pantaloons, while the right one, radiant with rings, and trimmed with upturned wristband, sawed the air, as he rounded off the periods of the well-accustomed saws.

Jawleyford, like a good many people, was very hospitable when in full fig—­two soups, two fishes, and the necessary concomitants; but he would see any one far enough before he would give him a dinner merely because he wanted one.  That sort of ostentatious banqueting has about brought country society in general to a deadlock.  People tire of the constant revision of plate, linen, and china.

Mrs. Jawleyford, on the other hand, was a very rough-and-ready sort of woman, never put out of her way; and though she constantly preached the old doctrine that girls ‘are much better single than married,’ she was always on the look-out for opportunities of contradicting her assertions.

She was an Irish lady, with a pedigree almost as long as Jawleyford’s, but more compressible pride, and if she couldn’t get a duke, she would take a marquis or an earl, or even put up with a rich commoner.

The perusal, therefore, of Sponge’s letter, operated differently upon her to what it did upon her husband, and though she would have liked a little more time, perhaps, she did not care to take him as they were.  Jawleyford, however, resisted violently.  It would be most particularly inconvenient to him to receive company at that time.  If Mr. Sponge had gone through the whole three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, he could not have hit upon a more inconvenient one for him.  Besides, he had no idea of people writing in that sort of a way, saying they were coming, without giving him the chance of saying no.  ‘Well, but, my dear, I dare say you asked him,’ observed Mrs. Jawleyford.

Jawleyford was silent, the scene in the billiard-room recurring to his mind.

‘I’ve often told you, my dear,’ continued Mrs. Jawleyford, kindly, ’that you shouldn’t be so free with your invitations if you don’t want people to come; things are very different now to what they were in the old coaching and posting days, when it took a day and a night and half the next day to get here, and I don’t know how much money besides.  You might then invite people with safety, but it is very different now, when they have nothing to do but put themselves into the express train and whisk down in a few hours.’