Emily followed, and Jawleyford came sulking in alone, sore put out at
the failure of what he meant for _the_ grand entertainment.
Lights blazed in profusion; lamps more accustomed had now become better
behaved; and the whole strength of the plate was called in requisition,
sadly puzzling the unfortunate cook to find something to put upon the
dishes. She, however, was a real magnanimous-minded woman, who would
undertake to cook a lord mayor's feast--soups, sweets, joints, entrees, and
all.
Jawleyford was nearly silent during the dinner; indeed, he was too far off
for conversation, had there been any for him to join in; which was not the
case, for Amelia and Sponge kept up a hum of words, while Emily worked
Robert Foozle with question and answer, such as:
"Were your sisters out to-day?"
"Yes, my sisters were out to-day."
"Are your sisters going to the Christmas ball?"
"Yes, my sisters are going to the Christmas ball," &c. &c.
Still, nearly daft as Robert was, he was generally asked where there was
anything going on; and more than one young la--but we will not tell about
that, as he has nothing to do with our story.
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