"I suppose so," said Mrs. Welwyn helplessly.
But Lucius Welwyn made a last effort. All seemed lost, yet his inherent polish and savoir faire rebelled against such an inglorious and ignominious end as this.
"I must apologise most sincerely for this contretemps, Lady Adela," he said with a ready smile. "Those fellows are two disciples of mine. Law students--British Museum--and so on. They come here periodically to receive instruction from me in my library upstairs"--Lady Adela looked up and regarded him steadily, but he continued with perfect coolness--"but I fear that on this occasion racial animosity has proved stronger than academic unity of purpose. You will understand, I am sure."
"Perfectly," replied Lady Adela. "Come, Sylvia."
Sylvia was quite ready, but at this moment the door flew open once more, and Dicky and Percy reappeared, flushed, panting, but triumphant.
"It's all right, Mrs. Welwyn," announced Dicky reassuringly. "The brunette gentleman has bolted himself into the bathroom, and we have locked up the blonde in a broom-cupboard. Hallo, Mum--going?"
"Yes. Come, Sylvia."
"Certainly, Mother," said Sylvia.
Dicky's ear caught the danger-note in his sister's voice. He stood transfixed, with dismay written across his frank but heated features.
"I say," he stammered. "Mum--Sylvia--what does all this mean?"