'To-morrow,' repeated Mr. Jawleyford, thoughtfully, 'to-morrow--they don't hunt to-morrow--not one of their days--next day. Scrambleford Green--Scrambleford Green--no, no, I'm wrong--Dundleton Tower--Dundleton Tower.' 'How far is that from here?' asked Mr. Sponge. 'Oh, ten miles--say ten miles,' replied Mr. Jawleyford. It was sometimes ten, and sometimes fifteen, depending upon whether Mr. Jawleyford wanted the party to go or not. These elastic places, however, are common in all countries--to sight-seers as well as to hunters. 'Close by--close by,' one day. 'Oh! a lo-o-ng way from here,' another. It is difficult, for parties who have nothing in common, to drive a conversation, especially when each keeps jibbing to get upon a private subject of his own. Jawleyford was all for sounding Sponge as to where he came from, and the situation of his property; for as yet, it must be remembered, he knew nothing of our friend, save what he had gleaned at Laverick Wells, where certainly all parties concurred in placing him high on the list of 'desirables,' while Sponge wanted to talk about hunting, the meets of the hounds, and hear what sort of a man Lord Scamperdale was. So they kept playing at cross-purposes, without either getting much out of the other. Jawleyford's intimacy with Lord Scamperdale seemed to have diminished with propinquity, for he now no longer talked of him--'Scamperdale this, and Scamperdale that--Scamperdale, with whom he could do anything he liked'; but he called him 'My Lord Scamperdale,' and spoke of him in a reverent and becoming way. Distance often lends boldness to the tongue, as the poet Campbell says it: Lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. There are few great men who haven't a dozen people, at least, who 'keep them right,' as they call it. To hear some of the creatures talk, one would fancy a lord was a lunatic as a matter of course. Spigot at last put an end to their efforts by announcing that 'tea and coffee were ready!' just as Mr. Sponge buzzed his bottle of port. They then adjourned from the gloom of the large oak-wainscoted dining-room, to the effulgent radiance of the well-lit, highly gilt, drawing-room, where our fair friends had commenced talking Mr. Sponge over as soon as they retired from the dining-room. CHAPTER XVII THE TEA 'And what do you think of _him_?' asked mamma. 'Oh, I think he's very well,' replied Emily gaily. 'I should say he was very _toor_-lerable,' drawled Miss Jawleyford, who reckoned herself rather a judge, and indeed had had some experience of gentlemen. '_Tolerable_, my dear!' rejoined Mrs. Jawleyford, 'I should say he's very well--rather _distingue_, indeed.' 'I shouldn't say _that_,' replied Miss Jawleyford; 'his height and figure are certainly in his favour, but he isn't quite my idea of a gentleman. He is evidently on good terms with himself; but I should say, if it wasn't for his forwardness, he'd be awkward and uneasy.'