"Thank you, little girl," said Lady Adela, taking the cup and smiling indulgently. ("Like a Duchess out slumming," Amelia told Tilly afterwards.) "What pretty manners!" she continued, turning to Mrs. Welwyn. "Where do you send her to school? I used to find it so difficult--" "She has left school," replied Mrs. Welwyn. "I suppose we ought to send her somewhere to get finished later on, but there--we can’t do without her, and that’s the truth. Can we, dear?" Martha Welwyn put an arm round her little daughter. She was talking with greater freedom and confidence now, with her aspirates under perfect control. "I can quite understand _that_," said Lady Adela affably. "I dare say you find her indispensable." "I should think so," replied Mrs. Welwyn, lowering her guard. "What with all the staircases, and a basement kitchen, and separate meals--" Tilly dropped a teaspoon with a clatter on to the tray. "I’m so sorry, Sylvia," she said. "Did I make you jump?" "No," responded Sylvia absently. "I was looking at your butler. He seems to have something on his mind." Mr. Stillbottle, who had entered the room two minutes previously, and had been awaiting an opportunity of gaining the ear of the company, took advantage of the partial silence which now ensued. "A person has called, sir," he announced to Mr. Welwyn, "for to iron the billiard table." Mr. Welwyn broke off his conversation with Mr. Mainwaring. "Thank you," he said in an undertone. "Let him do so by all means." "Yes, sir," replied Mr. Stillbottle, turning to go. "Tell him," added Percy, highly pleased with the manner in which the little comedy was unfolding itself, "to see if any of the cues want tips." "Very good," said Mr. Stillbottle, in a voice which plainly asked why Percy should "gag," when he might not. The door closed once more, and another hurdle was negotiated. The Welwyns heaved little sighs of relief: Russell’s was an unnerving presence. But Tilly glanced at the honest, laughing face of the man who loved her, and felt suddenly ashamed. "Quite a character, that old fellow," said Mr. Welwyn breezily. "Incorrigibly idle; painfully outspoken; a domestic tyrant of the most oppressive type; but honest as the day. I must get some one to put him in a book. Lady Adela, you have nothing to eat." Mr. Welwyn deftly changed places with his wife, who gratefully engaged in a conversation with Mr. Mainwaring; and the rest of the company performed one of those complicated evolutions which children call a "general post," and which affords persons of mature years but intellectual poverty the inestimable boon of being able to employ the same topics of conversation several times over. Tableau Number Three was now set. For a moment Dicky and Tilly found themselves together. "Tea, old man?" asked Tilly, offering a cup. "Thanks, little thing," replied Dicky, touching her hand under the saucer. "Did you send these?" Tilly looked down at her pink carnations.