"All right--Richard! I don’t think Richard will take very kindly to us when he sees us at home, and he’ll have to see us here sometime, you know. Things look different in Russell Square from what they do at the Trocadero. And if he sheers off after all--well, it’ll break our Tilly’s heart." At this moment the door burst open, to admit the sisters Welwyn, locked in an affectionate embrace and dancing a two-step to a whistled accompaniment. Tilly had returned. CHAPTER XVII THE WORD "SWANK" "That’s how it goes, ’Melia," panted Tilly, whirling her partner into an armchair. "It’s quite easy, really; Dicky taught me in the billiard-room on Saturday night in ten minutes. Hallo, hallo, hallo! Here I am, everybody! Hallo, Mother darling!" Mrs. Welwyn gently parried the approaching embrace. "Here’s your father, dear," she remarked, with the least tinge of reproof in her voice. "Hallo, Dad! I did n’t see you," exclaimed Tilly, kissing her male parent excitedly. "Welcome home, my daughter!" said Mr. Welwyn. "Now kiss your mother." Tilly had already begun to do so, and an eager conversation followed. "Of course, we’ve heard a bit from Perce," began Mrs. Welwyn at once, drawing the pins out of her daughter’s hat, "and my word! you seem to have got into the very thick of it this time, and no mistake!" "I should just think so," gabbled Tilly. "Such a place, Mother! Billiard-rooms, and garages, and butlers, and a fire in your bedroom and a hot bottle in your bed, and a maid to put you into your clothes, and I don’t know what all! And I was introduced to a lot of future relations. There was Lady Adela. She tried to patronise me, but was n’t much good. Then Sylvia, the daughter. I hate her--she is a cat. And Connie Carmyle. She is no relation, but I love her. And Father Mainwaring, he is a dear. He says he was at Cambridge with you, Dad." Mr. Welwyn put down the newspaper. "What is that?" he enquired in a sharp voice. "Cambridge?" "Yes. He does n’t remember you at all distinctly," said Tilly, "but says he has an impression that you were the most brilliant man of your year." "If that," remarked Mr. Welwyn, in a distinctly relieved tone, "is all that he recollects about me, I shall be pleased to meet him again." "How is Dicky, Tilly?" enquired Amelia. Tilly’s merry face softened. "Dicky," she said, half to herself, "is just Dicky. He brought me as far as the door, but I would n’t let him come in." "And are they all coming to tea?" enquired Mrs. Welwyn anxiously. "Yes--the whole boiling of them, at five this afternoon--a state call!" replied Tilly. "By the way, Mother, that was a bloomer we made about the invitation. I knew at the time we talked about it that you ought to have written a note and chanced the spelling. Her ladyship made that _quite_ plain to me." "Oh dear!" said Mrs. Welwyn in distress. "What did she say?"