She was an Irish lady, with a pedigree almost as long as Jawleyford's, but
more compressible pride, and if she couldn't get a duke, she would take a
marquis or an earl, or even put up with a rich commoner.
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.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177