CHAPTER XX

REHEARSED EFFECTS

"_H_as _H_erbert," enquired Mrs. Welwyn, taking a deep breath, "_h_urt _H_orace?" She choked. "Oh, dear!"

"Very good, Mumsie," said Amelia encouragingly. "Go on."

"But it puts me out of breath so, child, as soon as I begin to think of it," complained her pupil. "I shall never learn."

"Yes, you will," said Amelia confidently. "H's are just a matter of proper breathing, Daddy says. Now try the next sentence, and remember there's a trap in it!"

Miss Amelia seated herself upon the floor, clasping her long black legs with her arms and resting her chin on her knees.

"Now," she said, with a little nod.

Conscientious Mrs. Welwyn, having audibly recharged her lungs, now began to emit another heavily aspirated sentence.

"_H_ildebrand," she announced, "_h_as _h_it _H_enry _h_ard _h_intentionally. There, that's done it!" She sighed despairingly.

"And I warned you, Mother," said Amelia reproachfully. "That last word is put in on purpose to trip you up."

"Yes, I know," replied her mother with an apologetic smile. "And it always does. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, ducky, and that's a fact. I have always been common in my talk, and common in my talk I always will be. All I can promise is that I will do my best this afternoon; and I hope, for all of your sakes, that your old mother won't go and disgrace you."

Little 'Melia's reply to this humble aspiration was an embrace which entirely disorganised the hooks and eyes at the back of Martha Welwyn's festal garment. While the disaster was being repaired, Tilly entered briskly. In her hand she held a printed card, bearing the legend

APARTMENTS

in staring letters. This she dropped behind the piano.

"Hook me up behind, 'Melia, will you," she said, "when you have finished Mother? No, I'll do Mother and you do me. Your hair-ribbon is wrong. Let me get hold of it."

The Welwyns, _mere et filles_, formed themselves into a voluble equilateral triangle.

"I found that 'Apartments' card lying on the hall table," said Tilly with a shiver. "I suppose Russell took it out of the drawer when he was making his inventory. A nice thing if they had all marched in through the front door at that very moment! Still," she added cheerily, "there's no harm done. Am I all right, do you think?"

"Tilly, you look lovely," said Amelia.

"One thing about being a dress-designer," admitted Tilly, kissing her little sister, "is that you can design yourself a dress. 'Melia, you look a little duck. Mother, your hair is n't quite right. Let me pull it out a bit here."

She tweaked the coiffure of her much-enduring parent into position, whistling blithely. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled. She was determined to look her best for Dicky that day. And to do her justice, she did.

"Tilly dear," remarked Mrs. Welwyn dubiously, "can we all get round that table for tea?"

"Gracious!" cried Tilly, observing the heavily loaded table for the first time. "You are never going to plant everybody round _that_, like nursery tea?"

"Ain't we?" said Mrs. Welwyn blankly.

"Certainly not," replied Tilly.

Swiftly she sketched out the fundamentals of that meal which combines the maximum of discomfort with the minimum of nourishment--afternoon-tea as consumed by high society in the present period--and in three minutes the great round table, tipped onto its edge, was trundled rapidly into Mr. Welwyn's bedroom, to the surprise and discomfort of Mr. Welwyn, who was dressing at the time.

"Now a small tea-table," commanded Tilly.

"There is n't such a thing in the house, love," panted her overheated parent.

"Yes, there is," said little 'Melia, the ever-ready. "In Mr. Pumpherston's room. He keeps a text framed in fir-cones on it."

"You're right, dear; I had forgotten," admitted Mrs. Welwyn. "Well, Pumpherston is going to get bounced this evening anyway, so we might as well have his table now as then. Come with me and get it. He's out."

Left alone, Tilly flitted about the room, reviving its faded glories as far as she was able by deft touches here and there; straightening curtains, patting cushions, and confiding to various unresponsive articles of upholstery the information that her Love was like a Red, Red Rose.

"Tea-table here, I think," she said, pausing. "Probably Lady Adela would have hers nearer the fire; but then Lady Adela's drawing-room carpet has not got a hole in it. Come in!"

The door opened, and an eerie figure appeared. It was Mr. Russell--_ne_ Stillbottle--in his shirt-sleeves, wearing an insecurely fastened dickey. His black trousers, being much too long for him, presented a corrugated appearance. In his hand he carried a great bunch of pink carnations.

"These 'ave just been 'anded in, Miss," he announced. "No name, and"--with a slight note of congratulation in his voice--"nothing to pay."

Tilly thanked him, and, taking the flowers, buried her face in the heart of the bunch. When she withdrew it she found that Mr. Stillbottle was still present.

"If you could find him, Miss," he said deferentially, "I should like to 'ave a word with the Chief Nut."

"Who?"

"The old feller that's running this fake."

"Oh, my father?" said Tilly, biting her lip. "He is dressing, I think." She tucked three or four carnations into her belt and began to arrange the others in a bowl.

"Then, perhaps," said Mr. Russell, "you could advise me on a purely personal matter."

"Certainly," replied Tilly absently. Dicky's gift still claimed all her attention.

"It's these trousers, Miss," explained Russell confidentially. "They are the pair supplied by the management; and between ourselves I don't think they suit me. Brother Perce may 'ave a faithful 'eart, but 'e 's _built_ all wrong. These trousers are six or eight inches too long in the leg. I feel as if I was wearin' a pair of concertinas. Now--"

This sartorial jeremiad was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Welwyn, who, travelling full-speed astern and towing Amelia and the tea-table of Pumpherston in her wake, butted the double doors open, and backed heavily into the orator. Mr. Russell, looking deeply injured, retired to complete his toilet.

"That's better," said Tilly, when the small tea-table had been placed over the hole in the carpet, and the tea-tray had been placed over a hole in the tablecloth. "Is everything ready?"

"Yes," said Amelia.

"What about the babies?"

"I have washed and dressed them," said Mrs. Welwyn. "Melia will fetch them down for a few minutes about a quarter-to-six."

"That's all right," said Tilly approvingly. "They are darlings, both of them, and I should like to have them down all the time, but it's too risky. What time is it now?"

"Ten minutes to five," said Amelia.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. Welwyn, greatly agitated at the proximity of her hour. "Where shall I sit, Tilly dear?"

"On the sofa, Mumsie; and don't get hot, because you are looking very nice," said Tilly soothingly. "Hallo, Dad--just in time!"

Mr. Welwyn in a frock-coat, looking quite the scholar and gentleman, had entered from his bedroom.

"I perceive the feast is spread," he observed jauntily. "Mistress of Ceremonies, how do we dispose ourselves?"

"Mother here," replied meticulous Tilly--"on the sofa with the 'Morning Post.' I picked it up off the floor of the railway-carriage this morning. Don't read it; just be glancing at it carelessly. Father, sit by the fire with a book. Here's one. 'Melia, you had better be on a footstool at Mother's feet, with your head against her knee. Don't fall over her when you get up, Mother. And don't come forward more than three steps to meet Lady Adela: you 're as good as she is, remember. Say it's very sweet of her to come all this way. And if you call her 'your Ladyship,' I shall walk straight across the room and kill you--see?"

"Yes, lovey," sighed the flustered Mrs. Welwyn. "What _do_ I call her?"

"Lady Adela--not Lady Mainwaring, mind!"

"It sounds so familiar, starting Christian names right off," objected Mrs. Welwyn feebly.

"Never mind; you've got to do it," said Tilly ruthlessly. "I shall be here by the tea-table, and if any of you get on to thin ice I shall drop a teaspoon. Do you all understand?"

"Yes, Tilly," replied a respectful chorus.

"Very well, then," replied the Mistress of Ceremonies. "Now let me see you all in your places. Attention!"

Tilly clapped her hands, and her well-drilled retinue froze into their appointed attitudes.

"Don't hold the 'Morning Post' as if you were trying to lick butter off it, Mother," said Tilly. "'Melia, pull up your stocking. Dad, you are splendid, but you are laughing. This is a serious business, remember. Now, all keep like that for two minutes, to see if--Mercy on us, here they are!"

But she was wrong.

The door creaked, and swung slowly open, to admit the attenuated figure of Grandma Banks, who in the most unconcerned fashion possible hobbled across the room to the fireplace and seated herself in the vacant armchair opposite to her son-in-law, with every appearance of having come to anchor for the evening.

----

Grandma's descendants gathered into a panic-stricken knot in the corner.

"She _can't_ stay!" whispered Tilly frantically. "Mother, get her to bed."

"My dearie," responded Mrs. Welwyn helplessly, "you know what she is when she smells a rat!"

"Try, anyhow!" urged Tilly, glancing feverishly at the clock.

Mrs. Welwyn approached her aged parent much as a small boy approaches a reputed wasp's nest.

"Mother," she said nervously.

"Eh?" replied Mrs. Banks, looking up sharply and scrutinising her daughter over her glasses. "What 'ave you got them things on for? Goin' out somewhere? At your age, too!" she added irrelevantly.

"Yes--no--yes," stammered Martha Welwyn, who tampered with the truth with difficulty. "I've arranged for you to have your tea in your own room this afternoon, Mother."

"Why?" enquired Mrs. Banks at once.

"You are not looking very well," interposed Mr. Welwyn rashly.

"I'm eighty-one," retorted the old lady with great spirit, "and as 'earty as ever I was, Welwyn. I shall 'ave my tea in 'ere."

"We rather want this room this afternoon, dear," resumed Mrs. Welwyn gallantly. "Father has some people coming in on business."

"Is Father going to get a job of work to do?" riposted Grandma Banks, in tones of gratified surprise.

Mr. Welwyn blew his nose sheepishly, and the clock struck five. Tilly came forward and knelt by her grandmother's chair.

"It is very important for all of us, Granny," she pleaded, "that Father should have an undisturbed talk with these people; so we thought we would keep this room clear this afternoon. You don't want to be troubled with strangers, do you? Nasty, loud-voiced people."

"I likes people with loud voices," replied the old lady cantankerously. "I can 'ear what they says."

"But they're only going to talk business," urged Tilly. "Come along, there's a dear old Grandma. You'll be much more comfortable in your own room. There's a nice fire there, and I'll bring you in a lovely tea. Take my arm."

By this time Mrs. Banks had been raised to her feet, and now found herself being gently but inexorably propelled in the direction of the door.

"You don't _want_ me, that's the truth," she observed, getting reluctantly under way. "You 're ashamed of your old Grandma, that's what it is."

"Nonsense, darling," said Tilly. "You know how fond we all are of you. But you would only be tired out by a lot of people."

"No," persisted the old lady, "you don't want me."

She hobbled through the door on her grand-daughter's arm, still speaking the truth.

"Poor old Granny!" Tilly's voice said very gently. "I promise to make it all up to you some day."

The bedroom door on the other side of the landing was heard to open and shut, and there was momentary silence. Then the front-door bell emitted a majestic peal. The sound thrilled the Welwyns like a tocsin. Tilly darted in.

"Get to your places," she whispered.

The troupe hastily resumed their proper poses, and a tense silence ensued.

Mrs. Welwyn took a deep breath.

"_H_as _H_orace," she enquired in a hoarse and hysterical whisper, "_h_urt _H_erbert? No, but _H_ildebrand--"

"They are in the hall," hissed Amelia.

"They are coming up," said Mr. Welwyn calmly.

Suddenly Tilly's fortitude deserted her.

"I can't bear it!" she wailed, and bolted incontinently through the inner door into her father's room.

"Tilly darling, don't leave us!" was the agonised cry of Mrs. Welwyn and Amelia....

Next moment Mr. Welwyn, finding himself alone in his own drawing-room, rose to his feet and, as rapidly as was compatible with the dignity of a scholar and a gentleman, joined the panic-stricken mob in his bedroom.

Almost simultaneously the door onto the landing was thrown open, and Mr. Stillbottle's wheezy voice announced:--

"Lord Mainwaring, Lady Mainwaring, and party!" Then in a surprised and informal tone:--

"Hallo! Stage clear?"