"You’re right, dear; I had forgotten," admitted Mrs. Welwyn. "Well, Pumpherston is going to get bounced this evening anyway, so we might as well have his table now as then. Come with me and get it. He’s out." Left alone, Tilly flitted about the room, reviving its faded glories as far as she was able by deft touches here and there; straightening curtains, patting cushions, and confiding to various unresponsive articles of upholstery the information that her Love was like a Red, Red Rose. "Tea-table here, I think," she said, pausing. "Probably Lady Adela would have hers nearer the fire; but then Lady Adela’s drawing-room carpet has not got a hole in it. Come in!" The door opened, and an eerie figure appeared. It was Mr. Russell--_né_ Stillbottle--in his shirt-sleeves, wearing an insecurely fastened dickey. His black trousers, being much too long for him, presented a corrugated appearance. In his hand he carried a great bunch of pink carnations. "These ’ave just been ’anded in, Miss," he announced. "No name, and"--with a slight note of congratulation in his voice--"nothing to pay." Tilly thanked him, and, taking the flowers, buried her face in the heart of the bunch. When she withdrew it she found that Mr. Stillbottle was still present. "If you could find him, Miss," he said deferentially, "I should like to ’ave a word with the Chief Nut." "Who?" "The old feller that’s running this fake." "Oh, my father?" said Tilly, biting her lip. "He is dressing, I think." She tucked three or four carnations into her belt and began to arrange the others in a bowl. "Then, perhaps," said Mr. Russell, "you could advise me on a purely personal matter." "Certainly," replied Tilly absently. Dicky’s gift still claimed all her attention. "It’s these trousers, Miss," explained Russell confidentially. "They are the pair supplied by the management; and between ourselves I don’t think they suit me. Brother Perce may ’ave a faithful ’eart, but ’e ’s _built_ all wrong. These trousers are six or eight inches too long in the leg. I feel as if I was wearin’ a pair of concertinas. Now--" This sartorial jeremiad was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Welwyn, who, travelling full-speed astern and towing Amelia and the tea-table of Pumpherston in her wake, butted the double doors open, and backed heavily into the orator. Mr. Russell, looking deeply injured, retired to complete his toilet. "That’s better," said Tilly, when the small tea-table had been placed over the hole in the carpet, and the tea-tray had been placed over a hole in the tablecloth. "Is everything ready?" "Yes," said Amelia. "What about the babies?" "I have washed and dressed them," said Mrs. Welwyn. "Melia will fetch them down for a few minutes about a quarter-to-six." "That’s all right," said Tilly approvingly. "They are darlings, both of them, and I should like to have them down all the time, but it’s too risky. What time is it now?" "Ten minutes to five," said Amelia.