"There used to be a pleasant little form of greeting," he intimated. "You still want to?" cried ’Melia in a flutter. "Please." Next moment Miss Amelia Welwyn, feeling that the bottom had not dropped out of the universe after all, was giving Mr. Richard Mainwaring a kiss. "Where is Tilly this morning?" asked Dicky carelessly. "Gone out," said Amelia--"to look for a job. She gave up the other one when she got--engaged." "I see," said Dicky, nodding his head. "I suppose you have come to break it off," continued the experienced Amelia. "They all said last night you were bound to do it, after what had happened." "That sort of thing," explained Dicky, "is done for one by one’s parents, I believe. I am rather young, you see," he added apologetically. He rose, gently displacing his small admirer from his knee. "Now I must be off," he said. "Give this to Tilly for me, will you?" Amelia was still twisting and turning the letter in her hands when the bang of the front door signalled Dicky’s departure. "If his parents are going to break it off for him," said Amelia to herself in a puzzled whisper, "what does he want to go writing to her for?" CHAPTER XXIV A GARDEN PLOT IN RUSSELL SQUARE Outside, leaning contentedly against the railings of the garden opposite to the Maison Welwyn, and enjoying the spring sunshine, Dicky encountered the Carmyles. "Hallo, you two!" he said. "What are you doing here? Liable to get run in for loitering, hanging about like this." "We have followed you, Dicky," began Connie rapidly, "to tell you that your mother is coming up to town, and--" "Mother--already?" Connie nodded. "Fourth speed in," confirmed Mr. Carmyle. "Live axle--direct drive--open exhaust." "Trailing your father behind her," added Connie. "I understand you had an interview with them this morning." The Freak gave a wry smile. "I did," he said. "It was rather a heated interview, I’m afraid. Words passed. But we can’t stand here dodging taxis. Come into the garden, Maud!" "Don’t we require a key?" enquired the re-christened Connie, surveying the iron railings which enclosed the Bloomsbury Eden. "I have one," said Dicky. "It belongs to the Welwyns. Tilly and I used to use it a good deal," he explained, in a subdued voice. He led the way into the dingy but romantic pleasance which had sheltered himself and his beloved, and the trio sat down upon a damp seat. Mrs. Carmyle, looking rather like one of the sparrows which hopped inquisitively about her daintily shod feet, established herself between her two large companions. Her husband, who was a creature of homely instincts, hung his silk hat upon an adjacent bough with a sigh of content, and began to fill a large briar pipe. Dicky, a prey to melancholy, kicked the grass with his heels. "Where is Tilly this morning?" asked Connie.