CHAPTER XXII

THE REAL TILLY

Mr. Mehta Ram promptly fell at the feet of Mr. Welwyn, and attempted, in true Old Testament fashion, to embrace that embarrassed scholar and gentleman by the knees.

"Keep him out!" he shrieked. "Great snakes, I implore you! Lock the door!"

In the absence of the snakes this office was performed by Percy and Dicky. Directly afterwards there was a rush of feet down the staircase, and a fusilade of blows began to rain upon the panels.

"Open the door!" commanded a voice, in a frenzied Paisley accent. "I'm wanting in! Tae break his neck," it added in explanation.

Dicky and Percy promptly put their backs against the door. Mrs. Welwyn crossed hastily to her husband's side.

"It's that Pumpherston," she announced in a low voice. "What are we to do?"

Mr. Welwyn addressed the suppliant at his feet.

"Come, Mr. Mehta Ram," he said, "don't be frightened. He can't get in. What is the trouble?"

Mr. Mehta Ram lifted his face from Mr. Welwyn's boots and addressed the company at large.

"Mr. Welwyn, Mrs. Welwyn, and general public," he began--the latter designation was apparently intended for the Mainwaring family, who, with the exception of Dicky, had ranged themselves into a compact group on the further side of the room--"I appeal to you as British subject--as a member of that great Empire upon which the sun never sits--"

"Sets, old comrade!" corrected Dicky from the door.

"Shed your tears!" commanded Mr. Ram, disregarding the interruption. "Give us a look in! I am in jeopardy--in a damtight place! My adversary knocks upon the door--the avenging Pumpherston! He arraigns me of petty larceny. He accuses me that I have confiscated his table. But I am innocent! I make my defence! I throw myself--Ah-a-a-a-a-h! Help!"

The other door--that leading into Mr. Welwyn's bedroom, which itself communicated with the landing outside--burst open, and a small, red-whiskered, and intensely ferocious gentleman bounded in. It was the avenging Pumpherston.

Mr. Ram bolted across the room like an obese rabbit, and took refuge behind the hostile but protective form of Lady Adela.

The avenger paused, obviously nonplussed by the size of the assembly.

"I beg your paurdon," he said awkwardly. "I wis not aware--"

He turned, to find Percy and Dicky standing beside him, one at each shoulder.

"We were half expecting you, Mr. Pumpherston," said Dicky, with a friendly smile. "But if you and this gentleman are playing hide-and-seek, the den is upstairs."

"I beg your paurdon," repeated Mr. Pumpherston, whose bellicosity was fast evaporating, "but yon fat heathen has robbed me. He has lifted a piece of furniture--Heh! Let me get at him!"

With a convulsive bound he wrenched himself free from his interlocutors and made a dash for the door. But he was too late. Mr. Mehta Ram, keeping under the lee of Lady Adela and the furniture, had made use of the brief respite afforded by the recital of his assailant's grievances to effect an unostentatious departure, and was now halfway up the staircase again. The baffled Pumpherston followed him with a long-drawn howl.

"Come on, Percy!" said Dicky.

The pair raced out in pursuit, banging the door behind them. Presently from abovestairs came the sound of renewed conflict; a few dull thuds and muffled crashes; and then--silence.

----

Lady Adela rose to her feet in awful majesty, and addressed the stunned and demoralised remnants of the tea-party.

"Is this a private asylum," she enquired in trumpet tones, "or is it not?"

Grandma Banks was the only member of her audience who replied.

"My late 'usband," she whimpered--"my late 'usband, Mr. Josiah Banks! Greatly respected in 'Itchin--greatly respec--"

Tears coursed slowly down her furrowed cheeks.

In a moment Tilly was kneeling beside her, with her arms round the frail old body, whispering gently and caressingly into her ear. There was a long silence, and Sylvia began to pull on her gloves.

"I think we had better be going," said Lady Adela.

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Welwyn helplessly.

But Lucius Welwyn made a last effort. All seemed lost, yet his inherent polish and _savoir faire_ rebelled against such an inglorious and ignominious end as this.

"I must apologise most sincerely for this _contretemps_, Lady Adela," he said with a ready smile. "Those fellows are two disciples of mine. Law students--British Museum--and so on. They come here periodically to receive instruction from me in my library upstairs"--Lady Adela looked up and regarded him steadily, but he continued with perfect coolness--"but I fear that on this occasion racial animosity has proved stronger than academic unity of purpose. You will understand, I am sure."

"Perfectly," replied Lady Adela. "Come, Sylvia."

Sylvia was quite ready, but at this moment the door flew open once more, and Dicky and Percy reappeared, flushed, panting, but triumphant.

"It's all right, Mrs. Welwyn," announced Dicky reassuringly. "The brunette gentleman has bolted himself into the bathroom, and we have locked up the blonde in a broom-cupboard. Hallo, Mum--going?"

"Yes. Come, Sylvia."

"Certainly, Mother," said Sylvia.

Dicky's ear caught the danger-note in his sister's voice. He stood transfixed, with dismay written across his frank but heated features.

"I say," he stammered. "Mum--Sylvia--what does all this mean?"

"Good-bye, Mrs. Welwyn," said Lady Adela calmly. "Thank you for--ah--entertaining us. I suppose one can get a cab here?"

She shook Mrs. Welwyn's nerveless hand and turned to Mr. Mainwaring, who stood awkwardly smoothing his hat.

"Are you ready, Abel?" she enquired.

Suddenly Tilly Welwyn rose from her knees by her grandmother's side, and, to employ a dramatic expression, took the centre of the stage. She stood face to face with her departing guests, her head thrown back and her hands clenched--a very slim, very upright, very dignified little figure.

"Sit down, please, everybody, if you will be so kind," she said quietly. "I shan't keep you long."

Lady Adela, looking like a boa-constrictor which has been challenged to mortal combat by a small and inexperienced chicken, stood stockstill, with her head oscillating from side to side in a slightly uncertain fashion. Then, recovering herself, she fell back in good order upon her supporters.

The Welwyns, closing loyally upon their small champion, spoke in anxious undertones.

"Don't chuck up the sponge, Sis," whispered Percy encouragingly. "We'll pull you through."

"Don't lose your head, my child," counselled her father. "You may make things worse."

"Tilly, dearie, can you ever forgive me?" was all Mrs. Welwyn said. She forgot, in her selfless grief for the destruction of her daughter's castle-in-the-air, that she herself had predicted its fall.

Little 'Melia said nothing, but passionately squeezed her sister's hand.

"You are all dears," said Tilly in a clear voice, "and I love you for the way you have stood by me to-day; but I want to speak to the others just now."

She took a step forward towards the Mainwarings, who were grouped beside the tea-table. But before she could speak, Dicky, who had been hovering silently on the outer wing of his own party, crossed the floor and joined her.

"I'll come and stand over here, Tilly," he said, "if you don't mind. There's a nasty draught in that corner."

Tilly smiled faintly.

"I would rather you did n't," she said, with the suspicion of a tremor in her voice. "Please go over there."

Dicky responded by standing-at-ease, military fashion.

"Carry on," he said briefly.

"Please, Dicky!" urged Tilly, "It only makes it harder for me."

Dicky glanced at her white face, and retired one pace backward.

"That is my limit," he said.

Meanwhile Lady Adela had come to the conclusion that all this was very emotional and undignified.

"Miss Welwyn," she enquired, "what does this mean?"

"I will tell you," said Tilly. "But first of all I must say one thing. I did not try to trap your son, as you seem to think. We fell--we came to care for one another quite naturally. I made no attempt to catch him. I knew nothing whatever about him. It--it just happened." She turned wistfully to Dicky. "Did n't it?" she asked.

Dicky nodded his head gravely.

"It just happened," he said.

"And since we cared for one another--or thought we did"--continued Tilly with a little choke, "it never came into my head that anything else could matter. But last Saturday, when I went to stay at your house, and saw your grand ways and your grand servants, and all the commotion you made about Members of Parliament, and county families, and all that--well, I began to see rocks ahead. I felt common. My courage began to fail. I began to be afraid that you would not take kindly to the Family--"

"It was n't you that was afraid, dearie," said a respectful voice behind her. "It was the Family."

"I saw, too, Lady Adela," continued Tilly, "that _you_ were against me--dead against me--and that as soon as you got hold of a decent-excuse I should be bundled out of your son's life, like--like an entanglement. That put my back up. I had meant to be perfectly straight and unpretentious with you, but when I saw what you were after, I determined to fight. So I have deceived you."

"We all have," murmured a loyal chorus.

"You have been _done_!" proclaimed Tilly defiantly. She was fast losing control of herself. She felt dimly that she was behaving in an hysterical and theatrical manner; but when one's world is tumbling about one's ears, one may be excused for stating the truth rather more explicitly than is usual. "Yes--_done_!" she repeated. "I will tell you just exactly who we are and what we are. Father is a gentleman, right enough"--her voice rang out proudly--"as well-born a gentleman as any of the land; but he has followed no regular profession for twenty years, and he lives on Mother. Mother keeps lodgings. This house is a lodging-house, and those two men you saw were lodgers. Percy works in a wholesale haberdasher's in Holborn. I do a little dress-designing. 'Melia helps Mother with the lodgers. So you see you have been imposed on: we work for a living! But you must n't blame the Family for what has happened. It was my idea from start to finish: the Family only backed me up. And they did back me up! No girl ever had such a splendid father or mother, or brother or sister." Tilly stepped back into the heart of her bodyguard, feeling for friendly hands. "I 'm proud of them," she cried passionately, "proud to belong to them! I'm proud that my name is Tilly Welwyn, and I never wish to change it for any other. We Welwyns may be nobodies but we stick together. There! You may go now."

The drawing-room door creaked and opened, but no one noticed.

"I have told you everything, I think," said Tilly, more calmly. "I know now that I should have told you in any case. That's all.... No, it's not."

She swung round towards the doorway, and pointed to the grotesque figure of that earnest student of the drama, Samuel Stillbottle, who was myopically deciphering a small but tattered document, all but concealed in the palm of his hand.

"We're paupers!" she cried. "We're in debt! We're broke! There's a distraint on the furniture; and that creature"--Mr. Stillbottle, hazily conscious that a cue was coming, furtively thrust his manuscript into his waistcoat pocket--"that creature is a broker's man! Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother!"

In an instant Martha Welwyn's arms closed round her daughter.

"There, there!" she crooned. "My lamb, my pretty, my precious, my dearie--don't you cry!"

There was a deathlike stillness, broken only by Tilly's sobs. The Mainwarings stood like statues. Mr. Welwyn sat on the sofa, his head bowed between his hands. Grandma Banks slumbered peacefully. The bewildered but conscientious Stillbottle seized his opportunity, and cleared his throat.

"The shover, sir," he announced huskily, "is below, a-waitin' for--"

Next moment a hand like a vice closed upon the herald's collar, and Dicky Mainwaring's voice remarked concisely into his ear:--

"Go to the devil."

Mr. Stillbottle, utterly dazed, raised his head and surveyed the company. Then he smiled apologetically.

"Wrong entrance," he observed. "My error! _Exit hastily!_"

He turned, and shuffled out.