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Jones could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as offer to ask it,in the presence of a third person; seconds in this kind of duels notbeing according to the law of arms. As this objection did not occur toLady Bellaston, who was ignorant of any other woman being there butherself, she waited some time in great astonishment for an answer fromJones, who, conscious of the ridiculous figure he made, stood at adistance, and, not daring to give the proper answer, gave none at all.Nothing can be imagined more comic, nor yet more tragical, than thisscene would have been if it had lasted much longer. The lady hadalready changed colour two or three times; had got up from the bed andsat down again, while Jones was wishing the ground to sink under him,or the house to fall on his head, when an odd accident freed him froman embarrassment out of which neither the eloquence of a Cicero, northe politics of a Machiavel, could have delivered him, without utterdisgrace.This was no other than the arrival of young Nightingale, dead drunk;or rather in that state of drunkenness which deprives men of the useof their reason without depriving them of the use of their limbs.Mrs Miller and her daughters were in bed, and Partridge was smoakinghis pipe by the kitchen fire; so that he arrived at Mr Jones'schamber-door without any interruption. This he burst open, and wasentering without any ceremony, when Jones started from his seat andran to oppose him, which he did so effectually, that Nightingale nevercame far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the bed.Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that inwhich himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in,often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into the hands ofPartridge, whom the noise on the stairs soon summoned to his master'sassistance.And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own apartment,where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady Bellastonventing an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at the sametime saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast agitation, whichin a lady of a tender constitution would have been an hysteric fit.In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the two men,of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heardNightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attemptedto retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusionshe found already occupied by another."Is this usage to be borne, Mr Jones?" cries the lady.--"Basest ofmen?----What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me?" "Wretch!"cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place ofconcealment--"Marry come up!----Wretch forsooth?----as poor a wretchas I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer cansay."Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge ofMrs Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would havedone, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the mostunfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing himselfto Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protestations ofinnocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of herreason, which she had as ready as any woman in the world, especially