"No--second. When I saw him I had an idea, so we arranged to meet again at twelve-thirty. He has another engagement, but he said it did n’t matter when I asked him. After he has done what I want, he is coming to lunch, too. Now run and pack. Au revoir!" Revelling in every turn of the highly complicated plot which she was weaving, little Mrs. Carmyle, followed by her inarticulate but inflated husband, pattered swiftly away round the corner--and incidentally out of this narrative--turning to wave a reassuring hand to her client before disappearing. The Freak, puzzled but confident, went home to pack his portmanteau. CHAPTER XXV PURELY COMMERCIAL I "Well," said Mrs. Welwyn, taking off her apron, "the beds are done, anyway. One less to make," she added philosophically, "now that Pumpherston has hopped it. That’s something." "We could do with the rent of his room for all that, Mother," commented practical Amelia. "That’s true, dearie," sighed Mrs. Welwyn. "Well, perhaps we shall get another lodger. Where’s your father, by the way?" "He went out half an hour ago. I expect he’s at the Museum." "Did Mr. Dick see him?" "I don’t know." "And Mr. Dick said he did n’t want to see me?" Mrs. Welwyn spoke rather wistfully. "That was what he said," admitted ’Melia in a respectful tone. "I don’t suppose he’s very anxious to see any of us much," said Mrs. Welwyn candidly. "We must just get the idea out of our heads, that’s all. Forget it! Then, there’s that broker’s insect. We are going to get _him_ paid off double-quick, or I ’m a Dutchman. I don’t know how it’s going to be done. Still, we have got round worse corners than this, have n’t we, duckie?" "Yes, Mother," said Amelia bravely. Martha Welwyn suddenly flung her arms round her little daughter. "My precious," she whispered impulsively, "I would n’t mind if it was n’t for you children." Her voice broke. "God pity women!" "Mother, Mother!" cried little ’Melia reprovingly. "That’s not like you!" And she hugged her tearful but contrite parent back to cheerfulness again. A door banged downstairs, and the two fell apart guiltily. "That’s Tilly," said Mrs. Welwyn. "We must n’t be downhearted, or she’ll scold us. Bustle about!" With great vigour and presence of mind this excellent woman snatched the cloth off the table and shook it severely. Amelia, having hastily removed a tear from her mother’s cheek with a duster, opened the piano and began to wipe down the keys, to the accompaniment of an inharmonious chromatic scale. The door flew open and Tilly marched in, humming a cheerful air. "Such luck, Mother!" she cried. For a moment Martha Welwyn was deceived. She whirled round excitedly. "What do you mean, dearie?" she exclaimed. "I’ve got a berth--with Madame Amelie--old Mrs. Crump, you know--in Earl’s Court Road. One of her girls is leaving--"