A dead pause now ensued, interrupted only by the clattering of knives and forks, and the occasional exclamations of parties in want of some particular article of food. A chill had come over the scene -- a chill whose cause was apparent to everyone, except the worthy host and hostess, who had not heard of Mr Sponge’s descent upon the country. They attributed it to his lordship’s indisposition, and Mr Springwheat endeavoured to cheer him up with the prospect of sport.

‘There’s a brace, if not a leash, of foxes in cover, my lord,’ observed he, seeing his lordship was only playing with the contents of his plate.

‘Is there?’ exclaimed his lordship, brightening up: ‘let’s be at ’em!’ added he, jumping up and diving under the side table for his flat hat and heavy iron hammer-headed whip. ‘Good-morning, my dear Mrs Springwheat,’ exclaimed he, putting on his hat and seizing both her soft fat-fingered hands and squeezing them ardently. ‘Good-morning, my dear Mrs Springwheat,’ repeated he, adding, ‘By Jove! if ever there was an angel in petticoats, you’re her; I’d give a hundred pounds for such a wife as you! I’d give a thousand pounds for such a wife as you! By the powers! I’d give five thousand pounds for such a wife as you!’ With whichasseverations his lordship stamped awayin his great clumsy boots, amidst the ill-suppressed laughter of the party.

‘No hurry, gentlemen -- no hurry,’ observed Mr Springwheat, as some of the keen ones were preparing to follow, and began sorting their hats, and making the mistakes incident to their being all the same shape. ‘No hurry, sir-- no hurry, sir,’ repeated Springwheat, addressing Mr Sponge specifically; ‘his lordship will have a talk to his hounds yet, and his horse is still in the stable.’

With this assurance Mr Sponge resumed his seat at the table, where several of the hungry ones were plying their knives and forks as if they were indeed breaking their fasts.

‘Well, old boy, and how are you?’ asked Sponge, as the whites of Jack’s eyes again settled upon him, on the latter’s looking up from his plateful of sausages.

‘Nicely. How are you?’ asked Jack.

‘Nicely too,’ replied Sponge, in the laconic way men speak who have been engaged in some common enterprise -- getting drunk, pelting people with rotten eggs, or anything of that sort.

‘Jaw and the ladies well?’ asked Jack, in the same strain.

‘Oh, nicely,’ said Sponge.

‘Take a glass of cherry-brandy,’ exclaimed the hospitable Mr Springwheat: ‘nothing like a drop of something for steadying the nerves.’

‘Presently,’ replied Sponge, ‘presently; meanwhile I’ll trouble the missis for a cup of coffee. Coffee without sugar,’ said Sponge, addressing the lady.

‘With pleasure,’ replied Mrs Springwheat, glad to get a little custom for her goods. Most of the gentlemen had been at the bottles and sideboard.

Springwheat, seeing Mr Sponge, the only person who, as a stranger, there was any occasion for him to attend to, in the care of his wife, now slippedout of the room, and mounting his five-year-old horse, whose tail stuck out like the long horn of a coach, as his ploughman groom said, rode off to join the hunt.

‘By the powers, but those are capital sarsingers!’ observed Jack, smacking his lips and eating away for hard life. ‘Justlook if mylord’s onhis horse yet,’ added he to one of the children, who had begun to hover round the table and dive theirfingers into the sweets.

‘No,’ replied the child; ‘he’s still on foot, playing with the dogs.’