"Oh, it's he, is it?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Oh, for no particular reason," said Cuthbert. "Only Elma saw him coming in and called him an old johnny. I knew something was up."
"Elma?" asked Mrs. Leighton anxiously.
"Yes. And she's in great form about something. Haven't seen her so gay for an age."
Mrs. Leighton's eyes dropped. "Poor little girl," she said to herself. She thought it best to proceed upstairs, and break some of the surprise of Mr. Symington's arrival.
She found them in a room where boxes were piled in every direction. It was like her that in her present dilemma she should immediately begin to reprove them for their untidy habits.
"This room is really a disgrace," she said. "Just look at all these boxes! And it's tea-time and not one of you in the drawing-room with your father, the only afternoon he has too! Elma, what have you been doing to make your hair so untidy?"
"My hair is only a wig, and this is my room," said Elma firmly. "For the last ten minutes I have been trying to get to my own mirror. We are prinking ourselves up for the great Mr. Symington."
"Oh," said Mrs. Leighton. "So you know. Well, he only got the invitation a few days ago, when he was buried in Servia or some outlandish place. He came right on."