"Quite unpaintable, Walter," said Laura Beamish, peering over the edge of her hand. "Suppose so--but _isn't_ it Venetian!----" "Just put that green plate with the oranges in her lap----" "Oh ... magnificent!" It did indeed make an astonishing glow. "Well," said Cosimo Pratt presently, when each had applied his or her adjective to Amory's appearance, "and how's Jellies and Mrs. 'Ill, Amory?" You would not now have known Amory for the same girl who had conversed with Mr. Edmondson on the progress of illustrated journalism and statelily inclined her head when the awful Mr. Wellcome had offered her a liqueur-glass of the famous old Spanish brandy. She gave a low rippling laugh. She snuggled contentedly up against the coal-box. "What! hasn't Dorothy told you?" she ejaculated. If Dorothy hadn't told, that was really rather nice of Dorothy. "No," said Cosimo, turning his huge black-coffee-coloured eyes on her, all anticipation. "Jellies is engaged!" Amory announced, with another low laugh. Cosimo started dramatically. "_No!_" Amory nodded. She could always rely on Cosimo. "You don't say so! Oh, _do_ tell me! Do you think----" a short pause, "--he's worthy of her?" "Just look at Cosimo's face!" bubbled Laura Beamish. It bore an expression of the deepest mock gravity. "_Do_ tell me!" Cosimo implored.... Mrs. 'Ill was the woman who came in twice a week to do up the studio; Jellies (so called because she worked at the Jelly Factory across the river) was her daughter. Cosimo spoke again, in tragic tones. "At least tell me whether he's 'in' or 'out'!" he begged. "Bielby's out of this; tell Bielby, Amory," several voices said at once; and Amory's pretty golden eyes sought Mr. Bielby. She explained. Jellie's fiancé (she said) was 'in'--in prison. It had been (said Amory), oh, so killing! He had snatched a jacket from outside a second-hand clothes' shop, and had run away with it and had put it on: but he had not had time to remove the wooden hanger--Mr. Bielby knew those wooden hangers they hang coats on?--well, he'd not had time to remove the hanger before a policeman had collared him, and there he had been, swearing the coat was his, with the wire hook sticking up at the back of his neck! Fancy--just fancy!--the psychological situation! Really, somebody ought to write to William James about it!--'Orris ('Orris Jackman his name was--after orris-root, Amory supposed) vowing that he'd bought the coat weeks ago, and then the policeman putting his finger through the hook and hauling him away!... "And Mrs. 'Ill----" Amory rippled on to Mr. Bielby---- "Oh yes--tell him about Mrs. 'Ill and the Creek!" they cried.