Mr. Facey himself, had dropped in to
take 'pot luck,' as they called it. With either of these she would have
wished to appear as if their every-day form was more in accordance with
their company style, whereas Jog and she wanted to get something out of Mr.
Sponge, instead of electrifying him with their grandeur. That Gustavus
James was destined for greatness she had not the least doubt. She began to
think whether it might not be advisable to call him Gustavus James Sponge.
Jog, too, was comforted at hearing there were three haddocks, for though
hospitably inclined, he did not at all like the idea of being on short
commons himself. He had sufficient confidence in Mrs. Jogglebury's
management--especially as the guest was of her own seeking--to know that
she would make up a tolerable dinner.
[Illustration]
Nor was he out of his reckoning, for at half-past five Bartholomew
announced dinner, when in sailed Mrs. Crowdey fresh from the composition of
it and from the becoming revision of her own dress. Instead of the loose,
flowing, gipsified, stunner tartan of the morning, she was attired in a
close-fitting French grey silk, showing as well the fulness and whiteness
of her exquisite bust, as the beautiful formation of her arms.
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