"Yes, Dad," replied Dicky with equal zest; "we have arrived. This is Tilly!"
Mr. Mainwaring, entirely at sea but innately hospitable, greeted Tilly heartily. "You must be terribly cold," he said. "Come to the fire and let me take off that wet garment of yours."
He led the girl to the blaze, then turned to shoot a glance of respectful enquiry in the direction of his august spouse. It was ignored. Meanwhile Dicky had introduced the languid but far from indifferent Sylvia.
"Now you all know one another," he said. "Sylvia, be a dear old soul and take Miss Welwyn up to your room and give her some dry things, will you? She is soaking, and her luggage is n't here yet. You see," he added a little lamely--Sylvia's patrician calm had rather dashed him as usual--"we walked from the station--did n't we, Tilly?"
Tilly nodded dutifully, eyeing Sylvia the while with some distrust.
"You will take care of her, won't you?" concluded the solicitous Dicky.
"Surely!" replied Sylvia, in her grandest manner. "This way, Miss Welwyn."
She swept across the hall and up the staircase, followed by the small, moist, and mysterious figure of the newcomer.
At the foot of the stair Tilly halted and looked back. Dicky, who had been following her with his eyes, was at her side in a moment.
"What is it?" he asked in a low voice.