Philip straightens himself, and his moodiness flies from him. Marcia, on the contrary, grows _distrait_ and anxious. Molly, with the air of a little _gourmand_, makes her white teeth meet in her sweet cake, and, with a sigh of deep content, seats herself on the window-sill. Mr. Potts essays to do likewise. In fact, so great is his haste to secure the coveted position that he trips, loses balance, and crash goes tea, cup, and all--with which he meant to regale his idol--on to the stone at his feet. "You seem determined to outdo yourself this evening, Potts," Sir Penthony says, mildly, turning his eyeglass upon the delinquent. "First you did all you knew in the way of battering the silver, and now you have turned your kind attention on the china. I really think, too, that it is the very best china,--Wedgwood, is it not? Only yesterday I heard Mr. Amherst explaining to Lady Elizabeth Eyre, who is rather a connoisseur in china, how blessed he was in possessing an entire set of Wedgwood unbroken. I heard him asking her to name a day to come and see it." "I don't think you need pile up the agony any higher," Philip interposes, laughing, coming to the rescue in his grandfather's absence. "He will never find it out." "I'm so awfully sorry!" Mr. Potts says, addressing Marcia, his skin having by this time borrowed largely of his hair in coloring. "It was unpardonably awkward. I don't know how it happened. But I'll mend it again for you, Miss Amherst; I've the best cement you ever knew up-stairs; I always carry it about with me." "You do right," says Molly, laughing. "The hot tea won't affect it afterward," goes on Potts triumphantly. "He is evidently in the habit of going about breaking people's pet china and mending it again,--knows all about it," murmurs Sir Penthony, _sotto voce_, with much interest. "It isn't a concoction of your own, Potts, is it?" "No; a fellow gave it to me. The least little touch mends, and it never gives way again." "That's what's-_meant_ to do," Captain Mottie has the audacity to say, very unwisely. Of course no one takes the faintest notice. They all with one consent refuse indignantly to see it; and Longshank's inevitable "Ha, ha!" falls horribly flat. Only Molly, after a wild struggle with her better feelings, gives way, and bursts into an irrepressible fit of laughter, for which the poor captain is intensely grateful. Mrs. Darley, who is doing a little mild running with this would-be Joe Miller, encouraged by Molly, laughs too, and gives the captain to understand that she thinks it a joke, which is even more than could be expected of her. A sound of footsteps upon the gravel beneath redeems any further awkwardness. They all simultaneously crane their necks over the iron railings, and all at a glance see Mr. Amherst slowly, but surely, advancing on them.