"She _can't_ stay!" whispered Tilly frantically. "Mother, get her to bed."

"My dearie," responded Mrs. Welwyn helplessly, "you know what she is when she smells a rat!"

"Try, anyhow!" urged Tilly, glancing feverishly at the clock.

Mrs. Welwyn approached her aged parent much as a small boy approaches a reputed wasp's nest.

"Mother," she said nervously.

"Eh?" replied Mrs. Banks, looking up sharply and scrutinising her daughter over her gla.s.ses. "What 'ave you got them things on for? Goin'

out somewhere? At your age, too!" she added irrelevantly.

"Yes--no--yes," stammered Martha Welwyn, who tampered with the truth with difficulty. "I've arranged for you to have your tea in your own room this afternoon, Mother."

"Why?" enquired Mrs. Banks at once.

"You are not looking very well," interposed Mr. Welwyn rashly.

"I'm eighty-one," retorted the old lady with great spirit, "and as 'earty as ever I was, Welwyn. I shall 'ave my tea in 'ere."

"We rather want this room this afternoon, dear," resumed Mrs. Welwyn gallantly. "Father has some people coming in on business."

"Is Father going to get a job of work to do?" riposted Grandma Banks, in tones of gratified surprise.

Mr. Welwyn blew his nose sheepishly, and the clock struck five. Tilly came forward and knelt by her grandmother's chair.

"It is very important for all of us, Granny," she pleaded, "that Father should have an undisturbed talk with these people; so we thought we would keep this room clear this afternoon. You don't want to be troubled with strangers, do you? Nasty, loud-voiced people."

"I likes people with loud voices," replied the old lady cantankerously.

"I can 'ear what they says."

"But they're only going to talk business," urged Tilly. "Come along, there's a dear old Grandma. You'll be much more comfortable in your own room. There's a nice fire there, and I'll bring you in a lovely tea.

Take my arm."

By this time Mrs. Banks had been raised to her feet, and now found herself being gently but inexorably propelled in the direction of the door.

"You don't _want_ me, that's the truth," she observed, getting reluctantly under way. "You 're ashamed of your old Grandma, that's what it is."

"Nonsense, darling," said Tilly. "You know how fond we all are of you.

But you would only be tired out by a lot of people."

"No," persisted the old lady, "you don't want me."

She hobbled through the door on her grand-daughter's arm, still speaking the truth.

"Poor old Granny!" Tilly's voice said very gently. "I promise to make it all up to you some day."

The bedroom door on the other side of the landing was heard to open and shut, and there was momentary silence. Then the front-door bell emitted a majestic peal. The sound thrilled the Welwyns like a tocsin. Tilly darted in.

"Get to your places," she whispered.

The troupe hastily resumed their proper poses, and a tense silence ensued.

Mrs. Welwyn took a deep breath.

"_H_as _H_orace," she enquired in a hoa.r.s.e and hysterical whisper, "_h_urt _H_erbert? No, but _H_ildebrand--"

"They are in the hall," hissed Amelia.

"They are coming up," said Mr. Welwyn calmly.

Suddenly Tilly's fort.i.tude deserted her.

"I can't bear it!" she wailed, and bolted incontinently through the inner door into her father's room.

"Tilly darling, don't leave us!" was the agonised cry of Mrs. Welwyn and Amelia....

Next moment Mr. Welwyn, finding himself alone in his own drawing-room, rose to his feet and, as rapidly as was compatible with the dignity of a scholar and a gentleman, joined the panic-stricken mob in his bedroom.

Almost simultaneously the door onto the landing was thrown open, and Mr.

Stillbottle's wheezy voice announced:--

"Lord Mainwaring, Lady Mainwaring, and party!" Then in a surprised and informal tone:--

"Hallo! Stage clear?"

CHAPTER XXI

UNREHEa.r.s.eD

Mr. Mainwaring, Lady Adela, and party--the latter comprised Sylvia, Connie Carmyle, and d.i.c.ky--came to a standstill in the middle of the vast and empty drawing-room and looked enquiringly about them. Lady Adela, upon whom the labour of climbing the staircase had told heavily, first deleted from her features the stately smile which she had mechanically a.s.sumed before crossing the threshold, and then began to sit down upon the piece of furniture which Mr. Stillbottle had recently valued at twelve-and-six-pence.

"I would n't set in that chair, mum, not if I was you," remarked a husky voice in her ear. "The off 'hid leg is a trifle d.i.c.ky."

Lady Adela, suspended in mid-air like Mahomet's coffin, started violently upwards into a vertical position, and then, having, on the advice of the officious Mr. Stillbottle, selected the sofa, took in the drawing-room with one comprehensive sweep of her lorgnette.

Mr. Stillbottle withdrew, doubtless to con his lines.

"H'm," remarked Lady Adela. "This is evidently not one of the rooms that has just been in the hands of the painters and decorators."

"d.i.c.k," enquired Sylvia, who had been superciliously inspecting the mahogany whatnot with the deal back, "who was that furtive Oriental person who slipped past us on the staircase? Not another future relative-in-law, I trust."

"The stout n.i.g.g.e.r gentleman, you mean?" said d.i.c.ky, with unimpaired good humour. "I fancy he must have been calling on Mr. Welwyn about his studies. I have a notion that London University is somewhere about here."