It didn’t amuse _me_ much as I sat there, carrying out to the letter my promise to say nothing and look shy. I was feeling at least as embarrassed as I looked by the time tea was brought in and the girls made their appearance; Blanche with her fair hair unmanageably soft from its washing; Theo, as usual, all eyes for the visitor. I hoped they might distract his attention from me—they’re quite young enough!—but no! All the time he was sipping his tea and munching slice after slice of cake, the little Major continued to pour out comment after embarrassing comment upon my affairs, addressing himself chiefly now to the Governor. _He_ sat looking still more hopelessly uncomfortable and bigger than ever in contrast to the frail china tea-cup and the slice of wafer-like bread-and-butter in his clutch. Why do people allow men in at drawing-room teas? Why couldn’t those two have been having theirs in the billiard-room—the garage—_anywhere_—where I could have been saved from Major Montresor’s relentless flow of conversation? “And to think I should have known you all these months without suspecting that your gain was to be my loss—no, no, I don’t mean the business part of it, my boy. I mean this engagement of yours, ha, ha! And then—funny thing! to be congratulating the wrong man.” “Oh, _were_ you?” burst suddenly, irrepressibly, from Theo, unable to check the following “Who?” “Theo-_dora_, dear!” “Ah, never mind, never mind!” took up the little Major, turning quickly to the child and smiling from her to me. “I don’t tell tales out of school, young lady. But brown eyes”—with another monocled glance at those wide search-lights under the yellow curls—“brown eyes always stand for fickleness! There must have been a dozen at least of us that you treated disgracefully, Monica, eh? One comfort is I’m not the _only_ sufferer!” He was not! My heart sank lower and lower at the thought that this garrulous little blunderer was to stay for dinner. And the other expected guest, the outspoken uncle, was to be here for the whole week-end! What would _he_ be like? Not worse than Major Montresor—that was the single ray of comfort. Nothing _could_ be worse! Still, the two together—what a prospect! Even as I was shuddering over it, the sound of some confused commotion was borne in to us from the hall; and then a loud, bluff, breezy voice positively shouted: “Name? My good woman, you’re pretty new to this house, or you’d know my name. Same as your master’s. No! Don’t announce me. I’ll announce myself.” (As if this were necessary!) “Where are they all? Tea? Good! Young lady there too? Excellent!” The door, this time, burst open, and in _avalanched_ (it’s the only word) Uncle Albert Waters. CHAPTER XVI THE ORDEAL BY INSPECTION In looks, Uncle Albert Waters was just like the John Bull of the cartoons, minus the hat. In voice, he was Theo through a megaphone. In manner, a genial form of hurricane.