‘The drawing-room, Mrs. Tibbs!’ whispered the astonished Evenson to his equally astonished companion; and for the drawing-room they both made, plainly hearing the rustling of two persons, one coming down-stairs, and one coming up. ‘What can it be?’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs. ‘It’s like a dream. I wouldn’t be found in this situation for the world!’ ‘Nor I,’ returned Evenson, who could never bear a joke at his own expense. ‘Hush! here they are at the door.’ ‘What fun!’ whispered one of the new-comers.—It was Wisbottle. ‘Glorious!’ replied his companion, in an equally low tone.—This was Alfred Tomkins. ‘Who would have thought it?’ ‘I told you so,’ said Wisbottle, in a most knowing whisper. ‘Lord bless you, he has paid her most extraordinary attention for the last two months. I saw ’em when I was sitting at the piano to-night.’ ‘Well, do you know I didn’t notice it?’ interrupted Tomkins. ‘Not notice it!’ continued Wisbottle. ‘Bless you; I saw him whispering to her, and she crying; and then I’ll swear I heard him say something about to-night when we were all in bed.’ ‘They’re talking of _us_!’ exclaimed the agonised Mrs. Tibbs, as the painful suspicion, and a sense of their situation, flashed upon her mind. ‘I know it—I know it,’ replied Evenson, with a melancholy consciousness that there was no mode of escape. ‘What’s to be done? we cannot both stop here!’ ejaculated Mrs. Tibbs, in a state of partial derangement. ‘I’ll get up the chimney,’ replied Evenson, who really meant what he said. ‘You can’t,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, in despair. ‘You can’t—it’s a register stove.’ ‘Hush!’ repeated John Evenson. ‘Hush—hush!’ cried somebody down-stairs. ‘What a d-d hushing!’ said Alfred Tomkins, who began to get rather bewildered. ‘There they are!’ exclaimed the sapient Wisbottle, as a rustling noise was heard in the store-room. ‘Hark!’ whispered both the young men. ‘Hark!’ repeated Mrs. Tibbs and Evenson. ‘Let me alone, sir,’ said a female voice in the store-room. ‘Oh, Hagnes!’ cried another voice, which clearly belonged to Tibbs, for nobody else ever owned one like it, ‘Oh, Hagnes—lovely creature!’ ‘Be quiet, sir!’ (A bounce.) ‘Hag—’ ‘Be quiet, sir—I am ashamed of you. Think of your wife, Mr. Tibbs. Be quiet, sir!’ ‘My wife!’ exclaimed the valorous Tibbs, who was clearly under the influence of gin-and-water, and a misplaced attachment; ‘I ate her! Oh, Hagnes! when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen hundred and—’ ‘I declare I’ll scream. Be quiet, sir, will you?’ (Another bounce and a scuffle.) ‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Tibbs, with a start. ‘What’s what?’ said Agnes, stopping short. ‘Why that!’ ‘Ah! you have done it nicely now, sir,’ sobbed the frightened Agnes, as a tapping was heard at Mrs. Tibbs’s bedroom door, which would have beaten any dozen woodpeckers hollow. ‘Mrs. Tibbs! Mrs. Tibbs!’ called out Mrs. Bloss. ‘Mrs. Tibbs, pray get up.’ (Here the imitation of a woodpecker was resumed with tenfold violence.)