"As you will, my dear. Cold water’s a lot fresher, anyway," and he seized a plate with a savage shake. Ted put up his hand and ruefully rubbed his head. Nell nearly dropped the kettle in her glee. He had used his greasy hand, and his smooth hair stuck up in front in three jaunty wisps. Denis turned and seized a tray-cloth, lying neatly folded on the table, and dabbed it into the water. "Oh, you _dirty_ boy!" She pommelled excitedly on the door, but was presented with two dignified backs, the dignity of Ted marred a good deal by his airy locks, of which he was blissfully unconscious. She watched the horrid smears they were chasing round the plates with the poor little tray-cloth, and succumbed suddenly. "You may have the hot water! Oh, yes, unconditionally!" Truth to tell, she hated the idea of washing the greasy plates, and was glad to get out of it so easily. "Mayn’t I just come in to show you how to set about it?" she queried sweetly. "We don’t need showing, once we’ve got the hot water, do we, Ted?" "N-n-no," said Ted. Of course Denis burnt himself, but nothing was broken. Nell called directions through the door, and the washing up was finished at last. When Ted emerged into the kitchen, carrying some plates, she accosted him demurely:— "Have you _really_ finished? I want Denis to go down into the cellar and fill the coal-box." "I will," he said, seizing on the scuttle. "No, really, Ted—it’s horrid to let you do things—" "It’s ripping, Nell!" he declared with an earnestness that somehow sent her thoughts longingly to Kilbrannan—to have him there! He paused in the doorway, coal-box in hand. "What’s wrong, Nell?" he asked uneasily. "Wrong? Nothing. Why?" "You—you looked—sort of—" he stammered, and fled. She stood a minute looking thoughtfully into the fire. A loud and prolonged rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-_tat_ on the front door sent her flying into the scullery. Denis was putting on his coat. "Royalty at the front door, Denis! You so! Hurry up!" Denis went to the door. No one was on the doorstep, but a tall footman stood at the gate, holding it back for two white cloth and fur visions to enter. "By Jove! Ted’s relations!" His hospitable instinct prompted him to greet them as genially as he could. He cast a whimsical glance at their hats pondering on the relative size of them and the hall. "How-do-you-do? Is our cousin Ted here?" The hats sailed successfully into the hall, and then stopped abruptly with a little jerk and flutter of chiffon, feathers, and velvet. For before them stood an Object—a dirty Object in smeared shirt-sleeves, with a black smudge across one brazen cheek, and hair sticking up in three jaunty wisps over a coal-dust speckled brow. Moreover, the Object—the Dirty Object—was carrying a very full coal scuttle, swinging it gently to and fro, rather as if he were enjoying the situation and found it funny. And it was their cousin! It was Edward Lancaster!