The room was in that happy state of misty light that usually precedes the entrance of candles--a light that no one likes to call darkness, lest their eyes might be supposed to be failing.

It is a convenient light, however, for a timid stranger, especially where there are not many footstools set to trip him up--an exemption, we grieve to say, not accorded to every one.
Though Mr.Spraggon was such a cool, impudent fellow with men, he was the most awkward, frightened wretch among ladies that ever was seen.

His conversation consisted principally of coughing.

'Hem!'-- cough--'yes, mum,'-- hem--cough, cough--'the day,'-- hem--cough--'mum, is'-- hem--cough--'very,'-- hem--cough--'mum, cold.' But we will introduce him to our family circle.
'MR.

SPRAGGON!' exclaimed Spigot in a tone equal to the one in which Jack had announced himself in the entrance; and forthwith there was such a stir in the twilit apartment--such suppressed exclamations of: 'Mr.Spraggon!--Mr.Spraggon! What can bring him here ?' Our traveller's creaking boots and radiant leathers eclipsing the sombre habiliments of Mr.Spigot, Mrs.Jawleyford quickly rose from her Pembroke writing-desk, and proceeded to greet him.
'My daughters I think you know, Mr.Spraggon; also Mr.Sponge?
Mr.
Spraggon,' continued she, with a wave of her hand to where our hero was ensconced in his form, in case they should not have made each other's speaking acquaintance.
The young ladies rose, and curtsied prettily; while Mr.Sponge gave a sort of backward hitch of his head as he sat in his chair, as much as to say, 'I know as much of Mr.Spraggon as I want.' 'Tell your master Mr.Spraggon is here,' added Mrs.Jawleyford to Spigot, as that worthy was leaving the room.