Her infatuated son corrected her. "Not Bloomsbury," he said reverently; "Heaven." "Quite so," agreed Lady Adela, entirely unmoved. "What number?" "I have forgotten the number long ago," replied Dicky, "but I could find my way to the place blindfold by this time." "Don’t you ever write to her?" asked his mother curiously. "Every day." "Then you must know her postal address," was the crushing rejoinder. Dicky merely shook his head, and smiled serenely. "No, I don’t," he said. "Then where do you address her letters?" "I walk round every night after bedtime, and drop the letter into her letter-box. Is it likely I would let a postman touch it? Anyhow, on this occasion Tilly told me that if I asked for my umbrella any time I was passing it would be handed out to me. Then she thanked me again, the darling, and went into the shop." "Front entrance?" enquired Lady Adela swiftly. "Was it?" said Dicky vaguely. "I don’t remember. Yes, I do. She went round and in at the side somewhere. Why?" "Nothing," said Lady Adela. "And did you call at Russell Square?" "Rather! I went there next afternoon." "Were you invited in?" "As a matter of fact, I met her coming out, with her father. A splendid old chap! Apparently Tilly had told him the whole tale, and he had expressed a desire to make my acquaintance. A lucky desire for me, what? He took us both out to tea." "Where?" "Gunter’s. Said he was sorry he could n’t ask me into the house at present, as they had the paperhangers in. After that visitation was over, I was to come and make the acquaintance of the rest of the family." "And did you?" "Yes." "What is the house like inside?" was the next inevitable feminine enquiry. "To tell you the truth I have n’t been inside yet, except the front hall. But I met the rest of the family at a very friendly little luncheon given in my honour at the Criterion on the following Saturday afternoon." "And what are the rest of the family like?" Dicky pondered. "Now I come to think it over," he confessed at length, "I’m not very clear about the rest of the family. Collectively they struck me as being the most charming people I had ever met, but I don’t seem to have noticed them individually, if you know what I mean. You see, Tilly was there." "How many are there?" pursued his mother, with exemplary patience. "Four or five, I should think, but I have never counted them," replied the exasperating Richard. "Tilly--" Mr. Mainwaring came timidly to his wife’s aid. "Is there a mother, my boy?" he asked. "Yes, there is a mother," replied Dicky hastily. "Oh, yes," he repeated with more confidence, "certainly there is a mother." "Any sisters?" "There is a small girl--a dear. And I have a kind of notion there are some twins somewhere. Tilly--" "Any brothers?" Dicky smiled, apparently at some amusing thought.