"'Ere, you've forgotten your bed-feller, sir!" cried Bindle, picking up the silver-mounted hot-water bottle and the framed address and carrying them over to Mr. Sopley.
Mr. MacFie prepared himself for the ordeal before him. Standing in front of Lady Knob-Kerrick as if she had been an altar, he bowed low before her.
"Your Leddyship." A pause of veneration. "Ma Freends," he continued. "Few meenisters of the Gospel have the preevilege that has been extended to me this evening. It is the will of the Almighty that I succeed a most saintly man (murmurs of approval) in the person of Mr. Sopley. It will be a deefecult poseetion for me to fill. (Mr. Sopley wagged his head from side to side.) In her breeliant oration her Leddyship has emphasised some of the attreebutes of a man whose godliness ye can all testify——"
"You shan't keep me out, you baggage. Can't I hear his dear voice! My Andrew! Oh, Andy! Andy! and they want to keep me away from you."
The interruption came from the door, where Alice was vainly endeavouring to keep out a dishevelled-looking creature, who finally broke through and walked unsteadily towards the table.
Lady Knob-Kerrick turned and stared at the apparition through her lorgnettes.
Mr. MacFie's jaw dropped.
Mr. Sopley for the first time that evening seemed to forget heaven, and devoted himself to terrestrial things. Everybody was gazing with wide-eyed wonder at the cause of the interruption.
"Oh! my Andrew, my little Andy!" cried the woman in hoarse maudlin tones. Her hair, to which was attached a black toque with a brilliant oval of embroidery in front, hung over her left ear. Her clothes, ill-fitting and much stained, hung upon her as if they had been thrown—rather than put on. Her face, intended by Providence to be pretty, was tear-stained and dirty. Her blouse was open at the neck and her boots mud-stained and shapeless.
"What—what is the meaning of this?" demanded Lady Knob-Kerrick of Mr. MacFie, as she rose from her chair, a veritable Rhadamanthus.