Dicky was perfectly ready to explain.
"When Tilly and I got out of the train at Shotley Beauchamp station," he began, "and found that you two absent-minded old dears had forgotten to send anything to meet us--"
"But Dick, my boy," interposed the old gentleman--Lady Adela was rapidly progressing beyond the stage of articulate remonstrance--"how could your mother be expected to divine your intentions with regard to trains, or to know that you were bringing down--er--a guest?"
"I wrote and told you," said Dicky.
"When, pray?" enquired Lady Adela, finding speech again.
"The day before yesterday," said Dicky positively; "breaking the news about Tilly, and when we were coming, and--"
"We received no letter from you," replied Lady Adela.
"But I wrote it, Mum!" cried Dicky. "I spent three hours over it. It was the most important letter I have ever written in my life! Is it likely a man could forget--"
"Feel in your pockets, my boy," suggested the experienced Mr. Mainwaring.
Dicky smiled indulgently upon his resourceful parent, and pulled out the contents of his breast-pocket--a handful of old letters and a cigarette case.