'Hadn't you better get changed as quick as possible?' asked Amelia, still
keeping her position before him.
'Oh! all in good time,' replied Sponge, 'all in good time. The sight of you
warms me more than a fire would do'; adding, 'I declare you look quite
bewitching, after all the roughings and tumblings about out of doors.'
'Oh! you've not had a fall, have you?' exclaimed Amelia, looking the
picture of despair; 'you've not had a fall, have you? Do send for the
doctor, and be bled.'
Just then a door along the passage to the left opened; and Amelia, knowing
pretty well who it was, smiled and tripped away, leaving Sponge to be bled
or not as he thought proper.
Our hero then made for his bedroom, where, having sucked off his adhesive
boots, and divested himself of the rest of his hunting attire, he wrapped
himself up in his grey flannel dressing-gown, and prepared for parboiling
his legs and feet, amid agreeable anticipations arising out of the recent
interview, and occasional references to his old friend _Mogg_, whenever he
did not see his way on the matrimonial road as clearly as he could wish.
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