“Oh, here you are!” turning to the eldest girl, who had entered the room, to be instantly surrounded and tugged in every direction by the youngsters. “We were just telling your mother that your friend— Oh, look at her blushing!” “We’ll put dinner back twenty minutes,” said the mother, interposing on her daughter’s behalf. “That will give him time if he catches the next.” “Perhaps he never meant to come by that train,” said Uncle Henry. “Very likely he’s gone off somewhere else. One can never depend on these bachelors.” “Tease away,” said the girl courageously. “To tell you the truth, I rather like it.” “In that case,” remarked the uncle, “I decline to proceed. If I can’t give annoyance, I shall simply shut up. Supposing I have a kiss instead.” Tragic moments for the children who were being released from the control of neck-wraps and safety-pins and rubber shoes, for, apart from the tantalising scent of cooking, they had to endure the trial of saying nothing about the parcels brought. They clustered around the eldest girl, knowing this to be the surest quarter for entertainment, and she would have found a dozen arms few enough for the embraces they required; some of their questions she answered as though her mind were absent, and she glanced now and again, when everybody was talking, at the clock on the mantelpiece. A sharp knock at the front door made smiles come again to her features; the mother gave a warning word to the kitchen and met the young man in the hall, where the boys were helping him in the task of disengaging himself from his overcoat by pulling at it in all directions. He could not express his regrets at the missing of the train, but every one knew what motor-omnibuses were, and as he shook hands formally with the eldest girl (who appeared rather surprised, remarking to him, “Oh, is that you?”) an aunt began a moving anecdote concerning one of these conveyances which she had boarded on a recent afternoon opposite St. Martin’s Church. She asked the conductor as distinctly as she could speak whether it went to the Adelaide, and she felt certain that he replied, “Yes, lady,” but, happening to glance out later, found herself whirling along Marylebone Road, whereupon she, with great presence of mind, took her umbrella, prodded the conductor in the small of his back— “If you please, ’m, dinner is served!”