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Mr. Sponge was a good-looking, rather vulgar-looking man. At a
distance--say ten yards--his height, figure, and carriage gave him somewhat
of a commanding appearance, but this was rather marred by a jerky, twitchy,
uneasy sort of air, that too plainly showed he was not the natural, or what
the lower orders call the _real_ gentleman. Not that Sponge was shy. Far
from it. He never hesitated about offering to a lady after a three days'
acquaintance, or in asking a gentleman to take him a horse in over-night,
with whom he might chance to come in contact in the hunting-field. And he
did it all in such a cool, off-hand, matter-of-course sort of way, that
people who would have stared with astonishment if anybody else had hinted
at such a proposal, really seemed to come into the humour and spirit of the
thing, and to look upon it rather as a matter of course than otherwise.
Then his dexterity in getting into people's houses was only equalled by the
difficulty of getting him out again, but this we must waive for the present
in favour of his portraiture.


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