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.’

‘Well, but confound him, I didn’t ask his horses,’ exclaimed Jawleyford; ‘nor will I have them either,’ continued he, with a jerk of the head, as he got up and rang the bell, as though determined to put a stop to that at all events.

‘Samuel,’ said he, to the dirty page of a boy who answered the summons, ‘tell John Watson to go down to the Railway Tavern directly, and desire them to get a three-stalled stable ready for a gentleman’s horses that are coming today -- a gentleman of the name of Sponge,’ added he, lest anyone else should chance to come and usurp them -- ‘and tell John to meet the express train, and tell the gentleman’s groom where it is.’