"Mother here," replied meticulous Tilly--"on the sofa with the 'Morning Post.' I picked it up off the floor of the railway-carriage this morning. Don't read it; just be glancing at it carelessly. Father, sit by the fire with a book. Here's one. 'Melia, you had better be on a footstool at Mother's feet, with your head against her knee. Don't fall over her when you get up, Mother. And don't come forward more than three steps to meet Lady Adela: you 're as good as she is, remember. Say it's very sweet of her to come all this way. And if you call her 'your Ladyship,' I shall walk straight across the room and kill you--see?"
"Yes, lovey," sighed the flustered Mrs. Welwyn. "What do I call her?"
"Lady Adela--not Lady Mainwaring, mind!"
"It sounds so familiar, starting Christian names right off," objected Mrs. Welwyn feebly.
"Never mind; you've got to do it," said Tilly ruthlessly. "I shall be here by the tea-table, and if any of you get on to thin ice I shall drop a teaspoon. Do you all understand?"
"Yes, Tilly," replied a respectful chorus.
"Very well, then," replied the Mistress of Ceremonies. "Now let me see you all in your places. Attention!"
Tilly clapped her hands, and her well-drilled retinue froze into their appointed attitudes.
"Don't hold the 'Morning Post' as if you were trying to lick butter off it, Mother," said Tilly. "'Melia, pull up your stocking. Dad, you are splendid, but you are laughing. This is a serious business, remember. Now, all keep like that for two minutes, to see if--Mercy on us, here they are!"
But she was wrong.