'This is too bad,' repeated
he; 'people accepting invitations, and then crying off at the last moment.'
'Who is it can't come, papa--the Foozles?' asked Emily.
'No--Foozles be hanged,' sneered Jawleyford; 'they always come--_the
Blossomnoses!_' replied he, with an emphasis.
'The Blossomnoses!' exclaimed both girls, clasping their hands and looking
up at the ceiling.
'What, all of them?' asked Emily.
'All of them,' rejoined Jawleyford.
'Why, that's four,' observed Emily.
'To be sure it is,' replied Jawleyford; 'five, if you count them by
appetites; for old Blossom always eats and drinks as much as two people.'
'What excuse do they give?' asked Amelia.
'Carriage-horse taken suddenly ill,' replied Jawleyford; 'as if that's any
excuse when there are post-horses within half a dozen miles.'
'He wouldn't have been stopped hunting for want of a horse, I dare say,'
observed Amelia.
'I dare say it's all a lie,' observed Jawleyford; adding, 'however, the
invitation shall go for a dinner, all the same.'
The denunciation was interrupted by the appearance of Spigot, who came
looming up the spacious drawing-room in the full magnificence of black
shorts, silk stockings, and buckled pumps, followed by a sheepish-looking,
straight-haired, red apple-faced young gentleman, whom he announced as Mr.
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