d an approving glance in
the mirror ere our hero came swaggering in, twitching his arms as if he
hadn't got his wristbands adjusted, and working his legs as if they didn't
belong to him.

"Ah, my dear Miss Emley!" exclaimed he, advancing gaily towards her with
extended hand, which she took with all the pleasure in the world; adding,
"and how have you been?"

"Oh, pretty well, thank you," replied she, looking as though she would have
said, "As well as I can be without you."

Sponge, though a consummate judge of a horse, and all the minutiae
connected with them, was still rather green in the matter of woman; and
having settled in his own mind that Amelia should be his choice, he
concluded that Emily knew all about it, and was working on her sister's
account, instead of doing the agreeable for herself. And there it is where
elder sisters have such an advantage over younger ones. They are always
shown, or contrive to show themselves, first; and if a man once makes up
his mind that the elder one will do, there is an end of the matter; and it
is neither a deeper shade or two of blue, nor a brighter tinge of brown,
nor a little smaller foot, nor a more elegant waist, that will make him
change for a younger sister. The younger ones immediately become sisters in
the men's minds, and retire, or are retired, from the field--"scratched,"
as Sponge would say.

Amelia, however, was not going to give Emily a chance; for, having dressed
with all the expedition compatible with an attractive toilet--a
lavender-coloured satin with broad black lace flounces, and some heavy
jewellery on her well-turned arms, she came sidling in so gently as almost
to catch Emily in the act of playing the agreeable. Turning the sidle into
a stately sail, with a haughty sort of sneer and toss of the head to her
sister, as much as to say, 'What are you doing with my man?'--a sneer that
suddenly changed into a sweet smile as her eye encountered Sponge's--she
just motioned him off to a sofa, where she commenced a _sotto voce_
conversation in the engaged-couple style.

[Illustration: MR. SPONGE AND THE MISSES JAWLEYFORD]

The plot then began to thicken. First came Jawleyford, in a terrible stew.

'Well, this is too bad!' exclaimed he, stamping and flourishing a scented
note, with a crest and initials at the top. '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