Spigot!’ he added, hailing old Pomposo as the latter was slowly withdrawing, thinking what a humbug his master was—­’Spigot!’ he repeated in a louder voice; ’let the ladies know Mr. Sponge is here.  Come to the fire, my dear fellow,’ continued Jawleyford, clutching his guest by the arm, and drawing him towards where an ample grate of indifferent coals was crackling and spluttering beneath a magnificent old oak mantelpiece of the richest and costliest carved work.  ‘Come to the fire, my dear fellow,’ he repeated, ’for you feel cold; and I don’t wonder at it, for the day is cheerless and uncomfortable, and you’ve had a long ride.  Will you take anything before dinner?’

‘What time do you dine?’ asked Mr. Sponge, rubbing his hands as he spoke.

‘Six o’clock,’ replied Mr. Jawleyford, ’six o’clock—­say six o’clock—­not particular to a moment—­days are short, you see—­days are short.’

‘I think I should like a glass of sherry and a biscuit, then,’ observed Mr. Sponge.

And forthwith the bell was rung, and in due course of time Mr. Spigot arrived with a tray, followed by the Miss Jawleyfords, who had rather expected Mr. Sponge to be shown into the drawing-room to them, where they had composed themselves very prettily; one working a parrot in chenille, the other with a lapful of crochet.

The Miss Jawleyfords—­Amelia and Emily—­were lively girls; hardly beauties—­at least, not sufficiently so to attract attention in a crowd; but still, girls well calculated to ‘bring a man to book,’ in the country.  Mr. Thackeray, who bound up all the home truths in circulation, and many that exist only in the inner chambers of the heart, calling the whole ‘Vanity Fair,’ says, we think (though we don’t exactly know where to lay hand on the passage), that it is not your real striking beauties who are the most dangerous—­at all events, that do the most execution—­but sly, quiet sort of girls, who do not strike the beholder at first sight, but steal insensibly upon him as he gets acquainted.  The Miss Jawleyfords were of this order.  Seen in plain morning gowns, a man would meet them in the street, without either turning round or making an observation, good, bad, or indifferent; but in the close quarters of a country house, with all the able assistance of first-rate London dresses, well flounced and set out, each bent on doing the agreeable, they became dangerous.  The Miss Jawleyfords were uncommonly well got up, and Juliana, their mutual maid, deserved great credit for the impartiality she displayed in arraying them.  There wasn’t a halfpenny’s worth of choice as to which was the best.  This was the more creditable to the maid, inasmuch as the dresses—­sea-green glaces—­were rather dashed; and the worse they looked, the likelier they would be to become her property.  Half-dashed dresses, however, that would look rather seedy by contrast, come out very fresh in the country, especially in winter, when day begins to close in at four.  And here we may observe,