"But, my dear," said Lady Adela, refraining with great forbearance from slapping the small but discouraging counsellor by her side, "who else can it be?" She turned to Milroy. "Did Mr. Richard mention if he was bringing the young lady up with him?" she asked. "Yes, my lady," replied Milroy with unction--"he did." "Did he mention her name, Milroy?" enquired Connie. "No, Miss. He just said ’the young lady.’ Will there be anything further, my lady?" "No," snapped Lady Adela; and her aged retainer, as feverishly anxious beneath his perfectly schooled exterior to solve the mystery of his beloved Master Dick’s latest escapade as his mistress, departed to lay another place for dinner. In the hall there was a long silence. The wind roared round the house, and the rain drummed softly upon the diamond panes of the big oriel window. "It might be some old friend of the family," said Lady Adela hopefully--"some one whom Dick has encountered unexpectedly and invited down. You know his impulsive, hospitable way! Aunt Fanny, perhaps." "A _young_ lady, I think Milroy said," replied the Job’s comforter beside her. "Perhaps," pursued Lady Adela, still endeavouring to keep her courage up, "it is only one of the foolish boy’s practical jokes." These speculations were cut short by the prolonged buzz of an electric bell, followed by the sound of a spirited tattoo executed upon the panels of the front door, apparently by a walking-stick. The Freak (and party) had arrived. Lady Adela sat bolt upright, almost pale. "Mercy! here they are!" she said. Milroy, who had appeared from his lair with uncanny celerity, was already in the outer hall. There was the sound of a heavy door being opened; the curtains bulged out with the draught; and a voice was heard uplifted in cheery greeting. Then the door banged, and Dicky Mainwaring appeared through the curtains. He was alone, and very wet. "What ho, Mum!" he observed, after the fashion of the present generation. "My son!" exclaimed Lady Adela, advancing with outstretched arms. Dicky, enduring a somewhat lengthy embrace, suddenly caught sight of a small alert figure on the sofa. Curtailing the maternal caress as gently as possible, he darted forward. "Connie!" he cried enthusiastically. "What tremendous luck meeting you!" He shook his ancient ally by both hands. "I want you more at this moment," he continued earnestly, "than at any other period of my life." Connie Carmyle pointed an accusing finger at him. "Dicky Mainwaring," she enquired sternly, "where is your lady friend?" "I was just going to introduce her," replied Dicky, with a rapturous smile. "I wonder where she has got to, by the way. Found a mirror, I expect." Then he raised his voice and cried:-- "Tilly!" "Hallo!" replied an extremely small voice; and a shrinking figure appeared in the opening of the curtains. CHAPTER XIII LUCIDITY ITSELF