"Yes, I am pleased to see you and no mistake," said Mrs. Gainsborough. "But what a tyrant! Well, really, I was in me bed when your telegram came and that boy he knocked like a tiger. Knock--knock! all the time I was trying to slip on me petticoat, which through me being in a regular fluster I put on wrong way up and got me feet all wound up with the strings. Knock--knock! 'Whatever do you think you're doing?' I said when at last I was fairly decent and went to open the door. 'Telegram,' he says, as saucy as brass. 'Telegram?' I said. 'I thought by the row you was making that you was building St. Paul's Cathedral.' 'Wait for the answer?' he said. 'Answer?' I said. 'Certainly not.' Well, there was I with your telegram in one hand and me petticoat slipping down in the other. Then on the top of that came your letter, and I couldn't resist a sight of you, my dearie. Fancy that Lily waltzing off like that. And with a Portuguese. She'll get Portuguese before he's finished with her. Portuguese is what she'll be. And the journey! Well, really, I don't know how I managed. I kept on saying, 'France,' the same as if I was asking a policeman the way to Oxford Circus, and they bundled me about like ... well, really, everybody was most kind. Still when I got to France, it wasn't much use going on shouting 'France' to everybody. However, I met a nice young fellow in the train, and he very thoughtfully assisted me into a cab and ... well, I am glad to see you." "Now you're coming with me to Spain," Sylvia announced. "Good land alive! Where?" "Spain." "Are you going chasing after Lily again?" "No, we're going off on our own." "Well, I may have started on the gad late in life, but I've certainly started now," said Mrs. Gainsborough. "Spain? That's where the Spanish flies come from, isn't it? Well, they ought to be lively enough, so I suppose we shall enjoy ourselves. And how do we get there?" "By train!" "Dear land! it's wonderful what they can do nowadays. What relation then is Spain to Portugal exactly? You must excuse my ignorance, Sylvia, but really I'm still all of a fluster. Fancy being bounced out of me bed into Spain. You really are a demon. Fancy you getting yellow fever. You haven't changed color much. Spain! Upon my word I never heard anything like it. We'd better take plenty with us to eat. I knew it reminded me of something. The Spanish Armada! I once heard a clergyman recite the Spanish Armada, though what it was all about I've completely forgotten. There was some fighting in it though. I went with the captain. Well, if he could see me now. You may be sure he's laughing, wherever he is. The idea of me going to Spain." The idea materialized; that night they drove to the Gare d'Orléans. CHAPTER XII The journey to Madrid was for Mrs. Gainsborough a long revelation of human eccentricity.