The door creaked, and swung slowly open, to admit the attenuated figure of Grandma Banks, who in the most unconcerned fashion possible hobbled across the room to the fireplace and seated herself in the vacant armchair opposite to her son-in-law, with every appearance of having come to anchor for the evening.
————
Grandma's descendants gathered into a panic-stricken knot in the corner.
"She can't stay!" whispered Tilly frantically. "Mother, get her to bed."
"My dearie," responded Mrs. Welwyn helplessly, "you know what she is when she smells a rat!"
"Try, anyhow!" urged Tilly, glancing feverishly at the clock.
Mrs. Welwyn approached her aged parent much as a small boy approaches a reputed wasp's nest.
"Mother," she said nervously.
"Eh?" replied Mrs. Banks, looking up sharply and scrutinising her daughter over her glasses. "What 'ave you got them things on for? Goin' out somewhere? At your age, too!" she added irrelevantly.
"Yes--no--yes," stammered Martha Welwyn, who tampered with the truth with difficulty. "I've arranged for you to have your tea in your own room this afternoon, Mother."