"We told her," Mrs. Welwyn explained to Lady Adela, who was watching Grandma's performance with the saucer with hypnotic fascination, "that you and Mr. Mainwaring were coming to-day to have a talk about Tilly and Mr. Dick. That is what she meant by business, I expect."
But the explanation fell on inattentive ears.
Lady Adela's gaze had now risen from the saucer to the ceiling, which was vibrating madly, apparently under the repeated impact of one or more heavy bodies. The rest of the company had given up all pretence at conversation some time ago.
It was Dicky who supplied a line of explanation.
"Mrs. Welwyn," he said gravely, "your paper-hangers seem to be skylarking a little bit--what?"
"That's it," agreed Mrs. Welwyn, transparently grateful. "But what can one do?" she continued, speaking with pathetic solicitude in Lady Adela's direction. "You know what paperhangers are!"
"A playful race! A playful race!" cooed Mr. Welwyn helpfully.
There was another heavy bump overhead. The prism-decked chandelier rattled, and the ceiling shed another regretful flake.
"Sounds as if some one had tried to walk up the wall and failed," observed Percy, with that courageous facetiousness which comes proverbially to Britons at moments of great peril.
"How exasperating it must be for you all, Tilly," said Sylvia sympathetically. "I wonder you don't go and live somewhere else while it is going on."