At length the glad sound of the gong put an end to all further argument; and the inmates of Jawleyford Court retired, candle in hand, to their respective apartments, to adorn for a repetition of the yesterday’s spread, with the addition of the Rev. Mr. Hobanob’s company, to say grace, and praise the ‘Wintle.’

An appetiteless dinner was succeeded by tea and music, as before.

The three elegant French clocks in the drawing-room being at variance, one being three-quarters of an hour before the slowest, and twenty minutes before the next, Mr. Hobanob (much to the horror of Jawleyford) having nearly fallen asleep with his Sevres coffee-cup in his hand, at last drew up his great silver watch by its jack-chain, and finding it was a quarter past ten, prepared to decamp—­taking as affectionate a leave of the ladies as if he had been going to China.  He was followed by Mr. Jawleyford, to see him pocket his pumps, and also by Mr. Sponge, to see what sort of a night it was.

The sky was clear, stars sparkled in the firmament, and a young crescent moon shone with silvery brightness o’er the scene.

‘That’ll do,’ said Sponge, as he eyed it; ‘no haze there.  Come,’ added he to his papa-in-law, as Hobanob’s steps died out on the terrace, ’you’d better go to-morrow.’

‘Can’t,’ replied Jawleyford; ’go next day, perhaps—­Scrambleford Green—­better place—­much.  You may lock up,’ said he, turning to Spigot, who, with both footmen, was in attendance to see Mr. Hobanob off; ’you may lock up, and tell the cook to have breakfast ready at nine precisely.’

‘Oh, never mind about breakfast for me,’ interposed Sponge, ’I’ll have some tea or coffee and chops, or boiled ham and eggs, or whatever’s going, in my bedroom,’ said he; ‘so never mind altering your hour for me.’

‘Oh, but my dear fellow, we’ll all breakfast together’ (Jawleyford had no notion of standing two breakfasts), ‘we’ll all breakfast together,’ said he; ’no trouble, I assure you—­rather the contrary.  Say half-past eight—­half-past eight.  Spigot! to a minute, mind.’

And Sponge, seeing there was no help for it, bid the ladies good night, and tumbled off to bed with little expectation of punctuality.

[Illustration:  MR. SPONGE’S RAPID BREAKFAST]

CHAPTER XX

THE F.H.H.

Nor was Sponge wrong in his conjecture, for it was a quarter to nine ere Spigot appeared with the massive silver urn, followed by the train-band bold, bearing the heavy implements of breakfast.  Then, though the young ladies were punctual, smiling, and affable as usual, Mrs. Jawleyford was absent, and she had the keys; so it was nearly nine before Mr. Sponge got his fork into his first mutton chop.  Jawleyford was not exactly pleased; he thought it didn’t look well for a young man to prefer hunting to the society of his lovely and accomplished daughters.  Hunting was all very well occasionally, but it did not do to make a business of it.  This, however, he kept to himself.