e might be); made him convert his hand into an opera-glass, and
occasionally put his head between his legs to get an upside-down view--a
feat that Sponge's equestrian experience made him pretty well up to. So
they looked, and admired, and criticized, till Spigot's all-important
figure came looming up the gallery and announced that luncheon was ready.

'Bless me!' exclaimed Jawleyford, pulling a most diminutive Geneva watch,
hung with pencils, pistol-keys, and other curiosities, out of his pocket;
'Bless me, who'd have thought it? One o'clock, I declare! Well, if this
doesn't prove the value of a gallery on a wet day. I don't know what does.
However,' said he, 'we must tear ourselves away for the present, and go and
see what the ladies are about.'

If ever a man may be excused for indulging in luncheon, it certainly is on
a pouring wet day (when he eats for occupation), or when he is making love;
both which excuses Mr. Sponge had to offer, so he just sat down and ate as
heartily as the best of the party, not excepting his host himself, who was
an excellent hand at luncheon.

Jawleyford tried to get him back to the gallery after luncheon, but a look
from his wife intimated that Sponge was wanted elsewhere, so he quietly saw
him carried off to the music-room; and presently the notes of the 'grand
piano,' and full clear voices of his daughters, echoing along the passage,
intimated that they were trying what effect music would have upon him.

When Mrs. Jawleyford looked in about an hour after, she found Mr. Sponge
sitting over the fire with his _Mogg_ in his hand, and the young ladies
with their laps full of company-work, keeping up a sort of crossfire of
conversation in the shape of question and answer. Mrs. Jawleyford's company
making matters worse, they soon became tediously agreeable.

In course of time, Jawleyford entered the room, with:

'My dear Mr. Sponge, your groom has come up to know about your horse
to-morrow. I told him it was utterly impossible to think of hunting, but he
says he must have his orders from you. I should say,' added Jawleyford, 'it
is _quite_ out of the question--madness to think of it; much better in the
house, such weather.'

'I don't know that,' replied Sponge, 'the rain's come down, and though the
country will ride heavy, I don't see why we shouldn't have sport after it.'

'But the glass is falling, and the wind's gone round the wrong way; the
moon changed this morning--everything, in s