"But when do you suppose," pursued Mr. Stillbottle, transferring his feet from the sofa to the floor, "that I shall get out of this Dramatic Academy of yours? I 'ave n't come 'ere for a course, you know. Are you going to touch the tea-party for the money, or let me distrain on the furniture, or what?"
"I can't tell you at present," said Mr. Welwyn; "but I will endeavour to arrange something by the evening."
"Well, let me know soon, ole sport," said Mr. Stillbottle--"that's all. I 'ave my arrangements to make, too, remember. My word, look at Mother!"
This interjection was occasioned by the entrance of Mrs. Welwyn and Amelia, dressed for the party. Mrs. Welwyn was arrayed in a quieter and more tasteful fashion than might have been expected. Her costume, which had been designed and constructed by her eldest daughter, would have struck an impartial critic as one which made the very best of her age and figure. Amelia wore a short white frock, with a blue sash. Her long coppery hair flowed to her waist, and her hazel eyes were aglow with excitement.
"Father dear, what do you think of the way Tilly has turned me out?" enquired Mrs. Welwyn gaily.
For the moment her troubles were behind her. For once she was suitably--and to the outward eye expensively--attired; and the knowledge of the fact had induced in her humble but feminine soul that degree of minor intoxication which the materially-minded male usually achieves, more grossly but less extravagantly, by means of a pint of champagne.
Slowly gyrating for the delectation of her husband, Mrs. Welwyn unexpectedly encountered the unsympathetic gaze of Mr. Stillbottle. She blushed red, and ceased to revolve.
"Oh, that you?" she exclaimed, in an embarrassed voice.
"Yes, it's me--what's left of me," replied Mr. Stillbottle lugubriously. "Wearing me out, this job is."
He displayed his paper of cues.