CHAPTER XXI

UNREHEARSED

Mr. Mainwaring, Lady Adela, and party--the latter comprised Sylvia, Connie Carmyle, and Dicky--came to a standstill in the middle of the vast and empty drawing-room and looked enquiringly about them. Lady Adela, upon whom the labour of climbing the staircase had told heavily, first deleted from her features the stately smile which she had mechanically assumed before crossing the threshold, and then began to sit down upon the piece of furniture which Mr. Stillbottle had recently valued at twelve-and-six-pence.

"I would n't set in that chair, mum, not if I was you," remarked a husky voice in her ear. "The off 'hid leg is a trifle dicky."

Lady Adela, suspended in mid-air like Mahomet's coffin, started violently upwards into a vertical position, and then, having, on the advice of the officious Mr. Stillbottle, selected the sofa, took in the drawing-room with one comprehensive sweep of her lorgnette.

Mr. Stillbottle withdrew, doubtless to con his lines.

"H'm," remarked Lady Adela. "This is evidently not one of the rooms that has just been in the hands of the painters and decorators."

"Dick," enquired Sylvia, who had been superciliously inspecting the mahogany whatnot with the deal back, "who was that furtive Oriental person who slipped past us on the staircase? Not another future relative-in-law, I trust."

"The stout nigger gentleman, you mean?" said Dicky, with unimpaired good humour. "I fancy he must have been calling on Mr. Welwyn about his studies. I have a notion that London University is somewhere about here."

"What a jolly old-fashioned house this is," said Connie from the window-seat. "How nice and shady this big square must be in summer."

"It is a fairly shady locality all the year round, I fancy," observed Sylvia sweetly.

Kind-hearted Mr. Mainwaring coughed, and looked unhappily towards his son. But Dicky did not appear to have heard. He had just discovered his carnations.

Lady Adela took up the tale.

"There was a small but ferocious-looking creature with red whiskers," she announced, "hanging over the banisters on the top floor. Who would he be, now?"

"Don't ask me, Mum," said Dicky. "I've never been in the house before, remember, except downstairs. Probably a paper-hanger, or--"

He was interrupted by the entrance of a stately procession headed by Mrs. Welwyn, the rest following in single file.

Tilly effected the necessary introductions prettily and with perfect composure; and presently the company assorted itself into what we will call Tableau Number One. Mr. Welwyn led Lady Adela back to the seat which she had vacated.

"Most of the furniture in this mansion of ours is Early Victorian," he announced with a ready laugh; "but I think you will find this sofa comfortably Edwardian, Lady Adela."

Lady Adela, favourably impressed with her host's appearance and manner, smiled graciously and once more cautiously lowered herself onto the sofa. Here, in obedience to an almost imperceptible sign from her husband, the quaking Mrs. Welwyn joined her, and announced, in a voice which she entirely failed to recognise as her own, that it was very sweet of them all to come so far.

Amelia ran impulsively to Dicky and kissed him. Mrs. Carmyle, Sylvia, and Tilly fell into a chattering group round the tea-table. Mr. Welwyn and Mr. Mainwaring shook hands warmly and exchanged greetings. The tea-party was launched.

"How many years is it, Welwyn?" asked Mr. Mainwaring.

"Let us not rake up the past, my dear Mainwaring," said Mr. Welwyn. "More years than we care to count--eh? We'll leave it at that. But I am delighted to meet you again. I wonder how the old College prospers. Foster was your tutor, was n't he?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Mainwaring, pleasantly flattered to find that a man who had been two years senior to him should remember so much about him.

"Mine, too," mentioned Mr. Welwyn, as if determined to put his guest at his ease.

"He's a bishop now, I hear," said Mr. Mainwaring.

"_Eheu, fugaces_!" sighed Mr. Welwyn. "Come and sit by the fire."

"I think we had better have tea, Tilly," said Mrs. Welwyn, as per programme.

The Welwyn family, recognising a cue, began to bestir themselves for Tableau Number Two.

"I seem to hear it coming up, Mother," replied Tilly.

She was right. Portentous rattlings and puffings were now audible without. Next moment the doors were bumped open and Mr. Stillbottle appeared, carrying the tea-pot on a tray.

Apparently something was on his mind. His appearance was that of a righteous man deeply wronged. His was the demeanour of a British artisan compelled by forces which he cannot control to perform a task not included in his contract.

A moment later the situation explained itself. Behind Mr. Stillbottle, clinging affectionately to his flowing coat-tails, marched The Caution and The Cure. They were dressed in white, and looked exactly alike except that The Caution wore abbreviated white knickerbockers and The Cure a little white skirt. Their socks were white, their sashes and chubby legs were a radiant pink, and the angelic countenance of each was wreathed in smiles.

The procession drew up at the tea-table, where its leader proceeded to deposit the tea-pot. For a moment there was a pause in the conversation, while the hearts of the Welwyns stood still. The Twins, uncontrolled, sometimes erred on the side of originality.

"He's the Queen," explained The Cure, indicating the flinching figure of Mr. Stillbottle.

"Yesh; and we're holdin' up of his train," added The Caution.

Next moment Connie Carmyle had captured them both.

"You darlings!" she cried, and carried them off to the window-seat. The situation was saved.

"Little pets!" observed Lady Adela, smiling.

Even Sylvia forgot to pose for a moment. Tea was served amid a hum of cheerful conversation. The children had evoked the maternal instinct, and all was well.

Only Mr. Stillbottle remained cold.

"You oughter 'ave kep' them locked up somewhere," he announced severely to Tilly; and left the room.

"I don't see your son here, Mrs. Welwyn," said Lady Adela. "We had the pleasure of his company for a few minutes on Saturday."

"He will be here any minute, your--Lady Adela," replied Mrs. Welwyn with a jerk. "He is usually kept in the City till close on five, poor boy."

"That aged retainer of yours seems to be a bit of an autocrat, Tilly," said Dicky, taking Mrs. Carmyle's chair at the tea-table.

"Yes," agreed Tilly, feeling rather miserable at having to talk to Dicky in this strain; "but you know what old servants are. In their eyes we never grow up."

"Has he been with you for long, then?" enquired Sylvia, with a deep appearance of interest.

"How long has Russell been with us, Mother?" said Tilly, noting that Mrs. Welwyn's conversation with Lady Adela was beginning to flag.

"I can't remember, dear. It seems a long time, anyhow," replied Mrs. Welwyn with sincerity. "Ah, here is Percy. Come in, my boy. Just in time to hand round the cakes!"

"You can trust little Perce," observed that engaging youth, entirely at his ease, "to be on the spot at the right moment. How de do, Lady Adela? I hope this finds you as it leaves me."

He shook the very limp hand of Lady Adela, and having bestowed an ingratiating smile upon Sylvia, proceeded amid a slowly intensifying silence to offer a humorous greeting to Mr. Mainwaring. Finally he turned to Dicky, and slapped him boisterously upon the shoulder.

"Well, my brave Ricardo," he enquired, "how goes it?"

"Percy, dear old thing," responded Dicky promptly, with his most vacant laugh, "how splendid to see you again! Come and tell me all about your club run on Sunday."

He drew the flamboyant cyclist to a place of safety, and Tilly breathed again.

"There is sugar and cream in this cup, Lady Adela," said Amelia, with a neat bob-curtsey.

"Thank you, little girl," said Lady Adela, taking the cup and smiling indulgently. ("Like a Duchess out slumming," Amelia told Tilly afterwards.) "What pretty manners!" she continued, turning to Mrs. Welwyn. "Where do you send her to school? I used to find it so difficult--"

"She has left school," replied Mrs. Welwyn. "I suppose we ought to send her somewhere to get finished later on, but there--we can't do without her, and that's the truth. Can we, dear?"

Martha Welwyn put an arm round her little daughter. She was talking with greater freedom and confidence now, with her aspirates under perfect control.

"I can quite understand _that_," said Lady Adela affably. "I dare say you find her indispensable."

"I should think so," replied Mrs. Welwyn, lowering her guard. "What with all the staircases, and a basement kitchen, and separate meals--"

Tilly dropped a teaspoon with a clatter on to the tray.

"I'm so sorry, Sylvia," she said. "Did I make you jump?"

"No," responded Sylvia absently. "I was looking at your butler. He seems to have something on his mind."

Mr. Stillbottle, who had entered the room two minutes previously, and had been awaiting an opportunity of gaining the ear of the company, took advantage of the partial silence which now ensued.

"A person has called, sir," he announced to Mr. Welwyn, "for to iron the billiard table."

Mr. Welwyn broke off his conversation with Mr. Mainwaring.

"Thank you," he said in an undertone. "Let him do so by all means."

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Stillbottle, turning to go.

"Tell him," added Percy, highly pleased with the manner in which the little comedy was unfolding itself, "to see if any of the cues want tips."

"Very good," said Mr. Stillbottle, in a voice which plainly asked why Percy should "gag," when he might not.

The door closed once more, and another hurdle was negotiated. The Welwyns heaved little sighs of relief: Russell's was an unnerving presence. But Tilly glanced at the honest, laughing face of the man who loved her, and felt suddenly ashamed.

"Quite a character, that old fellow," said Mr. Welwyn breezily. "Incorrigibly idle; painfully outspoken; a domestic tyrant of the most oppressive type; but honest as the day. I must get some one to put him in a book. Lady Adela, you have nothing to eat."

Mr. Welwyn deftly changed places with his wife, who gratefully engaged in a conversation with Mr. Mainwaring; and the rest of the company performed one of those complicated evolutions which children call a "general post," and which affords persons of mature years but intellectual poverty the inestimable boon of being able to employ the same topics of conversation several times over. Tableau Number Three was now set.

For a moment Dicky and Tilly found themselves together.

"Tea, old man?" asked Tilly, offering a cup.

"Thanks, little thing," replied Dicky, touching her hand under the saucer.

"Did you send these?" Tilly looked down at her pink carnations.

Dicky nodded, and his gaze became suddenly ecstatic.

"Tilly," he said in tones of exultant pride, "you are looking perfectly beautiful."

"This is a strictly business meeting," smiled Tilly; but her heart bumped foolishly. For a moment nothing seemed to matter save the knowledge that Dicky loved her and she loved Dicky.

The next event of any importance was the discovery that Mrs. Carmyle, engrossed with the twins, had had no tea. There were cries of contrition from the Welwyn family, and Connie was hurried to the tea-table, followed by the desolating howls of her youthful admirers--howls which increased to yells when Mrs. Welwyn announced that it was time for them to return whence they came. However, they were pacified by an offer from their new friend to accompany them part of the way; and after submitting with a sweetness as adorable as it was unexpected to an embrace from Lady Adela, they left the room clinging to Connie's skirts, having contributed to the programme the one unassailably successful item of the whole afternoon.

Amelia went with them, but returned almost immediately.

"Mrs. Carmyle is telling them a story in the dining-room," she said to her mother. "They are as good as gold with her."

"Dear Constance! She is a fairy godmother to all children," remarked Lady Adela, who was feeling quite remarkably beatific.

"Yes--children of all ages," corroborated Dicky, catching Tilly's eye.

"I declare," cried Mrs. Welwyn suddenly, as this pleasant episode terminated, "I had almost forgotten. Tilly dear, you had better take your grandmother's tea in to her."

"All right, Mother," assented Tilly blithely. The party was shaping into a success.

"I am so sorry, Lady Adela," said Mr. Welwyn, picking up the new topic with the readiness of a practised conversationalist, "that you will not meet my wife's mother this afternoon. She spends a good deal of her time with us. A dear old lady--quite of the Early Victorian school."

"She is not unwell, I hope," said Lady Adela politely.

"A slight chill--a mere nothing," Mr. Welwyn assured her; "but at that age one has to be careful. The doctor is keeping her in bed to-day. I regret it, because I think you would have enjoyed a conversation with her. She is a mistress of the rounded phrase and polished diction of two generations ago. So unlike the staccato stuff that passes for conversation nowadays."

"Too true, too true!" agreed Lady Adela, eagerly mounting one of her pet hobby-horses. "She sounds most stimulating. It is unfashionable to-day to be elderly. My daughter informs me that no one--not even a grandmother--should have any recollection of anything that happened previous to the period when people wore bustles. All time before that she sums up as the chignon age. No, there is no sense of perspective nowadays. We are all for the present."

"Admirably put, dear Lady Adela," cooed Mr. Welwyn. "I remember--"

What Mr. Welwyn remembered will never be known, for at that moment the door opened, slowly but inexorably, and Grandma Banks appeared. She advanced into the room with a few uncertain and tottering steps, peered round her, and nodded her head with great vigour.

"I thought so," she observed triumphantly. "Company! No wonder I were sent to bed."

There was a paralysed silence. Mr. Welwyn was the first to recover his presence of mind. He advanced upon his infirm but irrepressible relative shaking a playful finger.

"This is very, very naughty," he announced reproachfully. "What will the doctor say?"

"Eh?" enquired Grandma.

"You were told to stay in bed, you know, dear," said Mrs. Welwyn, coming to her husband's assistance.

"I were n't never told no such thing by nobody," replied the old lady explicitly.

Tilly, avoiding Sylvia's eye, decided to make the best of the situation.

"Well, now you are here, Granny," she interposed brightly, "you must come and sit snugly by the fire and have some tea. 'Melia, bring that little three-legged table and put it by Granny's chair, and bring a footstool."

The Welwyns, swiftly taking their cue from Tilly, bestirred themselves in fulsome desperation, and in a few minutes Grandma Banks, a trifle flustered by her sudden and most unusual popularity, found herself tucked into her armchair by the assiduous efforts of the entire family.

"This is my grandmother, Mrs. Banks," said Tilly to Mr. Mainwaring, who happened to be sitting nearest.

"I trust, Mrs. Banks," began Mr. Mainwaring with a deferential bow, "that you are not allowing your sense of hospitality to overtax your strength."

"Eh?" enquired Mrs. Banks, as ever.

"She is rather deaf," explained Tilly in an undertone. "Don't strain your voice by talking to her too long."

"The gentleman," announced Grandma unexpectedly, "shall talk to me as long as he likes."

"Aha, Tilly, old lady! That's one for you," cried the watchful Percy, and the Welwyn family laughed, hurriedly and tumultuously. Grandma's octogenarian heart glowed. Social success had come to her at last. She began to enjoy herself hugely. Tilly cast an anxious glance round her. Grandma's entrance had sensibly lowered the temperature of the tea-party, and worse threatened. Already Lady Adela was exhibiting a tendency to edge towards the fireplace. It was only too plain that she contemplated yet another "cosy chat." Tilly decided to fall back upon the one trustworthy person in the room.

"Granny," she said, taking Dicky by the arm and leading him forward, "I want to introduce Mr. Dick Mainwaring. You have heard of him, have n't you?"

Mrs. Banks surveyed Dicky over her spectacles.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Banks with deliberation, "I 'ave 'eard of you. You and our Tilly are walking out."

Dicky assented with a happy laugh, and dropped into the only chair in Grandma's vicinity. Tilly breathed again: Lady Adela's further advance was checked. The party settled down once more, and talk broke out afresh.

Grandma Banks, whose conversational flights were not as a rule encouraged by her relatives, availed herself of her present emancipation to embark upon a brief homily to Dicky.

"I tells you this, young man," she said in a hectoring voice, "you've got a treasure in our Tilly. Don't you forget it."

"I made that discovery for myself a long time ago," said Dicky. He smiled up at his treasure, who was sitting upon the arm of his chair.

The treasure's grandmother, having in the mean time been supplied with refreshment by Amelia, took a piece of bread-and-butter and rolled it up into a convenient cylinder.

"Yes," she continued, dipping the end of the cylinder into her tea, "she takes after her mother, does Tilly. She may get some of her looks from her father's side, but when it comes to character, she's a Banks." Her aged voice rose higher. "Always been respectable, 'as the Bankses," she announced shrilly. "Very different from--"

At this point not less than three persons enquired of Lady Adela if she would not take another cup of tea; and in the hospitable melee which ensued Grandma's further utterances were obscured.

Percy was holding Lady Adela's cup, and Tilly was re-filling it, when the door opened and Mr. Stillbottle made his second entrance. As before, he came to a halt immediately on appearing, and coughed in a distressing fashion without making any attempt to deliver his lines.

"There is that quaint old retainer of yours again, Tilly," said Sylvia.

Tilly turned quickly.

"Well, Russell?" she asked.

Mr. Stillbottle, ignoring her entirely, addressed himself to the master of the house.

"A message has came through on the telephone, sir," he chanted, fixing his eyes upon an imaginary prompt-book on the opposite wall, "askin' for you to be so kind as to attend a meetin' of the Club C'mittee at three o'clock on Toosday next."

"I think I am engaged," replied Mr. Welwyn, with an anxious glance in the direction of his mother-in-law (who was fortunately busily occupied in masticating a cylinder); "but say I will let them know."

"Right," said Mr. Stillbottle, and departed.

The Welwyns, who during the time occupied by their butler's second "turn," had been inclining uneasy ears in the direction of the open doorway, surveyed one another in a frightened fashion. All was not well on the second floor: evidence to that effect was plainly audible.

"Great bore, these committee meetings," commented Mr. Welwyn. "I expect you have your fill of them, Mainwaring."

"Alas, yes!" said Mr. Mainwaring. "They are all the same. Everybody sits and looks portentously solemn--"

"All sorts of non-controversial business is brought forward as a matter of pressing importance--"

"Everybody disagrees with everybody else--"

"And ultimately everything is left to the Secretary, who arranges matters quite satisfactorily without any assistance whatsoever!"

The two elderly gentlemen laughed happily at their own spirited little dialogue, and Mr. Welwyn rose to lay down his cup. It was a tactical blunder of capital magnitude. Lady Adela, left momentarily unguarded, immediately slipped her moorings, rose to her feet, and sailed with great stateliness in the direction of the fireplace.

"I am going to have a chat with your dear mother," she observed graciously to Mrs. Welwyn in passing. "Dick dear, let me have your chair."

Dicky, feeling that it was not for him to participate in a battle of giants, obeyed, and Lady Adela sank down opposite Grandma Banks. Simultaneously sounds of further disturbances penetrated from the regions above, and a small lump of plaster fell from the ceiling. Grandma, still intent upon a hearty and unwholesome tea, made no acknowledgment of Lady Adela's presence until Mrs. Welwyn effected an introduction.

"Mother," she explained, "this is Lady Adela, Mr. Dick's mother."

Mrs. Banks nodded curtly.

"It is very kind of you, Mrs. Banks," intimated Lady Adela in the voice of one who meditates producing soup-tickets later on, "to make this special effort on our behalf. I hope we are not too much for you."

The relict of the departed Banks poured some tea from her cup into her saucer, took a hearty and sibilant sip, and replied:--

"Very few folks 'as ever bin too much for me. I 'ear as 'ow you have come on business."

"We told her," Mrs. Welwyn explained to Lady Adela, who was watching Grandma's performance with the saucer with hypnotic fascination, "that you and Mr. Mainwaring were coming to-day to have a talk about Tilly and Mr. Dick. That is what she meant by business, I expect."

But the explanation fell on inattentive ears.

Lady Adela's gaze had now risen from the saucer to the ceiling, which was vibrating madly, apparently under the repeated impact of one or more heavy bodies. The rest of the company had given up all pretence at conversation some time ago.

It was Dicky who supplied a line of explanation.

"Mrs. Welwyn," he said gravely, "your paper-hangers seem to be skylarking a little bit--what?"

"That's it," agreed Mrs. Welwyn, transparently grateful. "But what can one do?" she continued, speaking with pathetic solicitude in Lady Adela's direction. "You know what paperhangers are!"

"A playful race! A playful race!" cooed Mr. Welwyn helpfully.

There was another heavy bump overhead. The prism-decked chandelier rattled, and the ceiling shed another regretful flake.

"Sounds as if some one had tried to walk up the wall and failed," observed Percy, with that courageous facetiousness which comes proverbially to Britons at moments of great peril.

"How exasperating it must be for you all, Tilly," said Sylvia sympathetically. "I wonder you don't go and live somewhere else while it is going on."

Tilly, whose powers of endurance were fast coming to an end, made no reply. Kindly Mr. Mainwaring bridged the gulf of silence.

"It is extraordinary," he began chattily to the company at large, "how completely one is at the mercy of the British workman. Once you get him into your house he sticks. I suppose the title of arch-limpet must be awarded to the plumber; but I should think the paperhanger--"

He was interrupted by the querulous but arresting voice of Grandma Banks.

"What's that?" she enquired with ominous distinctness, "about plumbers?"

"I was awarding the palm for general iniquity, dear Mrs. Banks," explained Mr. Mainwaring smilingly, "to the plumbing fraternity. Plumbers--"

Mrs. Welwyn made a hasty movement, but it was too late. Grandma's bowed and shrivelled form suddenly swelled and stiffened.

"Ho, was you?" she enquired with rising indignation. "Then let me tell you that my late 'usband, Mr. Josiah Banks, what was very 'ighly respected in 'Itchin--"

Tilly dropped two teaspoons despairingly, and there was another and more timely bump overhead.

"Percy dear," interposed Mrs. Welwyn hastily, "don't you think you had better run up and see what those wretches are doing?"

"Righto, Mother," said Percy, rising with alacrity.

"My late 'usband--" resumed Mrs. Banks, _crescendo_.

"It certainly is an extraordinary noise," remarked Mr. Welwyn loudly. "They appear to be on the staircase now."

"Sliding down the banisters, no doubt," said Dicky. "Playful little fellows! Shall I come with you, Percy?"

Percy Welwyn paused, a little embarrassed.

"Don't trouble," he said. "You see--"

He paused again--fatally.

"My late 'usband," proclaimed Grandma Banks on the top note of her register, "was a plumber 'imself."

Next moment the double doors burst open, and Mr. Mehta Ram, frantic with terror, hurled himself into the room.