It was remarkable, that whoever made a sly attack upon that worthy, with a view to a joke, was sure to have the tables turned upon him, by the matter-of-fact way in which his joke was received, refuted, and cut to pieces.
'I assure you, my dear, there have been many very celebrated Jones', Sir William at the head of them. He was a great Oriental scholar. Then there was Inigo Jones, the architect; and John Paul Jones, the admiral; and Dr John Jones, the grammarian, born in this very county; and—and—'
'That celebrated Mr David Jones, Mr Prothero, whose locker was so deep that I am sure he must have been a relation of the admiral,' suggested Miss Gwynne.
'Truly so, my dear—but I have read—'
'I am afraid I must trouble you to order my carriage, Mr Gwynne,' said Lady Mary, looking impatiently, first at the chess-table, secondly at her daughter, who was engaged in animated nonsense with Mr Rice Rice, junior; and thirdly at Sir Hugh, still occupied in making Netta blush.
'I beg your pardon; one moment, Lady Mary; I must just castle my king.'
'Perhaps you had better put an end to the game, papa,' said Miss Gwynne.
'Not for the world, my dear. What do you say, Mr Rowland?'
'I should certainly like to finish it, but perhaps we are inconveniencing others.'
'Ah, yes, to be sure. Then will you come and dine with me to-morrow, and we will finish it?'