Further remonstrance, however, was cut short by the sudden entrance of Mrs. Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called--appropriately enough in this instance,--a wrap-rascal. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions-- From patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, And with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,--a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,--which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Mrs. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. For a moment, Kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to Shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. Placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to Jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. “Excuse me,” he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. “This tongue looks remarkably nice,” he added, slicing off an immense wedge, “excuse me--ho! ho!” “You make yourself at home, I perceive,” observed Kneebone, with a look of ineffable disgust. “I generally do,” replied Blueskin, pouring out a bumper of sack. “Your health, Kneebone.” “Allow me to offer you a glass of usquebaugh, my dear,” said Kneebone, turning from him, and regarding Edgeworth Bess with a stare so impertinent, that even that not over-delicate young lady summoned up a blush. “With pleasure, Sir,” replied Edgeworth Bess. “Dear me!” she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, “what a beautiful ring that is.” “Do you think so?” replied Kneebone, taking it off, and placing it on her finger, which he took the opportunity of kissing at the same time; “wear it for my sake.” “Oh, dear!” simpered Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to hide her confusion by looking steadfastly at her plate. “You don't eat,” continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. “The Captain has seldom much appetite,” replied Blueskin, who, having disposed of the fowl, was commencing a vigorous attack upon the sirloin. “I eat for both.” “So it seems,” observed the woollen-draper, “and for every one else, too.”