If the young lady perceived this she did not cease to be amiably disposed. “Oh, Mrs. Benson,” she said, “I've had a telegram.” Mrs. Benson, with strict non-committal, lifted her eyebrows to “Well, well!” It was as if she implied that such things were to be expected in a world full of trouble. “So I hear, Miss Percival,” she grimly said. “It's from Mr. Ingram, you know.” “Ah, well--” Mrs. Benson could have been heard to sigh; but among the many things which Miss Percival chose to ignore, this sort of thing was one. Trouble to her, always, was a signal which braced the nerves and sinews. “It's to say--but I think you had better read it.” It was held out unfalteringly, while Mrs. Benson dived for, opened, wiped, tested, and fixed her spectacles. These operations concluded, it was received as might have been a dangerous explosive. Punctuating as she went, Mrs. Benson read, _“Home to-morrow--seven people--Ingram.”_ Then she looked, confirmed in her omens, over the rim of her spectacles. “Seven people, Miss Percival! A house-party! And, as you may say, at a moment's notice. Dear, dear, dear!” Miss Percival remained cheerful. “Oh, I don't read it like that,” she said, went behind Mrs. Benson, and read over her shoulder, pointing the words with a pencil still wet from her mouth. “'Home to-morrow, seven--with people--Ingram.' That's what it must mean, of course.” She spoke wooingly, but Mrs. Benson was not to be won. “Then, why does he say 'Seven people,' Miss Percival? Why does he say that?” “But he doesn't, according to me.” She laughed. “He is telling us the time of his train. How could we meet him and his people if he didn't?” “Ah,” said Mrs. Benson, heavily prepared for the worst, “how could we? That's where it is, you see. But of course he wouldn't think of _us_.” “But he does, you know. He has. He says that he will have people with him. That is to prepare us.” Mrs. Benson's fist crashed into the paper. “How many people, Miss Percival? How many people? Why, seven, of course? What else could it be? And where's the fish to come from for seven people? And what about maids and valets? Does he count up the likes of them? He's not Mr. Ingram if he does. Not he! Nor his father before him. And what's Frodsham going to do about carriage-room for seven--and the servants as well--and the luggage, and all? Dogs, very likely, dogs and cats, and parrots. Who knows? I've seen 'em bring scritch-owls and hawks on their wrists before now. Oh, they'll do anything, some of 'em--anything to be looked at. That's what it is; they want looking at. And I'd look at 'em if I had my way!”