It was a fat, good-natured voice, but even in that one word the cockney accent was aggressive and unmistakable. Mrs. Railing appeared, smoothing the sleeves of the Sunday dress which she had just put on. She was a short, stout woman, of an appearance politely termed comfortable; her red face, indistinct of feature, shone with good-humour and with soap, the odour of which proceeded from her with undue distinctness; her hair was excessively black. There was certainly nothing in her to remind one of Bertram’s sensitive, beautiful face. Smiling pleasantly, she shook hands with Winnie. “Louie ’asn’t come in yet, Bertie,” she said, and the lacking aspirate sent a blush to Winnie’s cheek. “Fine day, isn’t it?” she added, by way of beginning the conversation. Winnie agreed that it was, and Bertram suggested that they should have tea at once. “It’s all ready,” said his mother. She looked somewhat uncertainly at the bell, as though not sure whether it would be discreet to ring, and gave her son a questioning glance. Then, making up her mind, she pulled it. The shrill sound was heard easily in the parlour, and Mrs. Railing remarked complacently: “It ’as rung.” But there was no other answer than the sound of voices in the kitchen. “Is any one here?” asked Bertram. “Mrs. Cooper popped in to see me, and she’s been ’elpin’ me get the tea ready.” Bertram’s face darkened, and his mother turned to Winnie with an explanation. “Bertie can’t abide Mrs. Cooper, somehow,” she said, in her voluble, good-tempered way. “You don’t know Mrs. Cooper, do you? She lives in Shepherd’s Bush. Such a nice woman, and a thorough lady!” “Oh, yes,” said Winnie, politely. “But Bertie can’t abide ’er. I don’t deny that she does take a little drop more than’s good for ’er; but she’s ’ad a rare lot of trouble.” Bertram said nothing, and in an awkward pause they waited for the tea. “I think I’d better go an’ see if anything ’as ’appened,” said Mrs. Railing. “We don’t generally ’ave tea in here, except when we ’ave company. And that girl of mine can’t be trusted to do anything unless I’m watchin’ of her all the time.” But Railing rang the bell again impatiently. After a further sound of voices raised in acrimonious dispute, the door was opened about six inches, and the dishevelled head of a frowsy girl was thrust in. “D’you want anything?” “Do I want anything!” cried Mrs. Railing, indignantly, “I suppose you think I ring the bell for me ’ealth! I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do than to ring the bell all day long. Didn’t I tell you to bring the tea the moment that Bertie come in?” “Well, I’m bringing it,” came from the head, crossly, and the door was closed with a bang.