Lady Adela and Sylvia, taken in flank, both turned and eyed the frivolous interloper severely. Had they not done so, they would have noted that Miss Welwyn’s teacup had almost leaped from its saucer. "Dear Connie, you are priceless," commented Sylvia patronisingly. "I wonder where you got your quaint sense of humour." "Lady Adela was my informant," said Connie, quite unruffled. She had drawn the enemy’s fire upon herself, which was precisely what she had intended to do. "Jolly sensible of you, too! A plumber is a useful little thing to have about a house. My Bill is practically one, you know, although he calls himself something grander. Now, what about a four-handed game of billiards before dinner? Do you feel inclined to play, Miss Welwyn?" "I am rather out of practice," said Tilly dubiously. "Never mind!" said Connie. "You can play with Dicky against Mr. Mainwaring and me." She walked to the foot of the staircase, and called up: "Mr. Richard, forward!" "In one moment, Miss!" replied a voice far up the height. "I’m just attending to a lady at the ribbon counter. I’ll step down directly." Then a stentorian bawl: "Sign, please!" During this characteristic exchange of inanities an electric bell purred faintly in the distance, with the usual result that the dining-room door opened, to emit the jinnee-like presence of Mr. Milroy. "What is it, Milroy?" enquired Lady Adela. "Front door bell, my lady," replied Milroy, and disappeared like a corpulent wraith through the curtains. "Heavens, not _another_ caller!" exclaimed the overwrought mistress of the household. "Probably Mr. Rylands come back for his goloshes," said Sylvia. At the same moment Dicky and his father appeared, descending the staircase together. "_And_ the next article, madam?" continued Dick lustily, addressing Mrs. Carmyle, who stood below. He was answered, not by the lady to whom his query was addressed, but by Milroy, who appeared holding back one of the curtains which covered the entrance to the vestibule, to announce, in the resigned tones of a man for whom life holds no further surprises:-- "Mr. Percy Welwyn!" II Mr. Percy Welwyn entered. He was a slender young man with an insufficient chin and a small moustache. He looked like a shop assistant; and Dicky’s last remark, still ringing through the hall, emphasised rather than suggested the comparison. His hair was brushed low down upon his forehead, with an elaborate curl over his right eyebrow. His eyes were bulgy. He wore a tight-fitting cycling suit, splashed with mud, and carried in his hand a small tweed cap bearing a metal badge. Altogether an impartial observer might have been excused for not feeling greatly surprised that Dicky and Tilly had mislaid him. Mr. Welwyn advanced to the fire, with the easy grace of one who is habitually a success in whatever grade of society he finds himself, and remarked: "Good-evenin’, all!"