“How, my dear!” cried Jericho, in the darkest ignorance—“How would you go?” “As your family, Mr. Jericho; as your wife and daughters”—said the lady, “we ought to go drest.” “Why, yes, my dear”—said Jericho—“’twould look very particular, if you didn’t. He! he!” “I admire wit, true wit, Mr. Jericho,” said the lady, with a pitying smile; “but no real gentleman ever descends to humour. Major Pennibacker never—but that is not the question. In a word, Mr. Jericho, your wife and daughters have no clothes to go in. Therefore, as you have decided to accept the invitation, may I ask, when can you let me have some money?” Jericho dropt the paper, pushed himself from the table, and groaned. “Oh, very well, very well”—said Mrs. Jericho, with cutting vivacity—“I can write a refusal: of course; we are ill, or are going out of town, or have a better engagement; anything will do.” “Now, my dear creature, will you be reasonable?” cried Jericho, intreatingly. “What _do_ you want?” Mrs. Jericho replied with admirable brevity. “Want! Everything.” “Impossible,” said Jericho. “If we cannot go like your wife and daughters, we had better—far better for your credit—stay at home. Well, I did not think it would come to this”—said Mrs. Jericho, a little affected—“I did not think when I consented to marry you, that you would suffer my dear girls to want the necessaries of life.” “Why, you don’t call fine extravagant clothes the necessaries of life?” cried Jericho. “Yes, I do, sir; for such a party as that of Carraways; and for girls that are marriageable. Why all the world—that is, the richest people in the world—will be at the fête. And are the poor things, the dear girls, to remain always at home—kept in the dark, like jewels in boxes—for nobody to see them? Why, Mr. Jericho, you’re a king Herod to the dear children, and nothing better. Indeed to kill them outright, would be more merciful.” “My dear creature”—Mrs. Jericho snatched an angry look at the word—“my dear Sabilla, what would you have me do? I’m sure I don’t want to keep the girls at home. I’m sure—” Jericho spoke with increasing earnestness—“I’m sure I should be delighted to see them married. Why, you must confess, my dear; you must own, my love, that it was only a fortnight ago, I gave you fifty pounds, for”— “And what’s fifty pounds among three women?” asked Mrs. Jericho. Jericho, with early habits of clerkship, quickly replied—“Sixteen pounds, thirteen and fourpence a piece.” “I have told you, Mr. Jericho, that I admire wit—but no low humour. As much wit as you please, sir, but no buffoonery. Very well”—and Mrs. Jericho rose—“I’ll write and decline the engagement.” “You know best, my dear, of course. I’ll leave it all to you;” and Jericho resumed the paper. A brief pause; and then he added,—“I’m sure I only wish I was made of wealth; but, I can’t make money, you know; I wish I could. The expenses of this family”—