Part 42 (2/2)

”Very good. So long, everybody. _Exit Russell_, door in back.”

With a theatrical gesture, the ci-devant impersonator of elephants' hind legs disappeared. The Welwyns regarded one another apprehensively.

”Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Welwyn.

”We must make the best of him, Martha,” said her husband. ”After all, we did not invite him here of our own accord: he _has_ to be present in the house in some capacity. Still, I admit he is the weak spot in our enterprise--the heel of Achilles, so to speak.”

But Mr. Welwyn was wrong.

CHAPTER XX

REHEa.r.s.eD 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 s.h.i.+ver. ”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?”

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