"Mrs. Welwyn is not what we call a lady," proceeded Dicky, "but she is the right stuff all through. I admit that she has not been quite successful in her efforts to polish Percy, but look at the others! The little sister, 'Melia, is a dear. The twins are rippers. Old Welwyn--well, he's a rotter, but he's a gentlemanly rotter; which pretty well describes the majority of my friends, now I come to think of it. And he is no hypocrite: he is quite frank about his weaknesses. Now, to sum up. On her father's side Tilly is a lady; on her mother's side she is a brick. That's a pretty good combination. Anyhow, it's good enough for me; and if she'll have me I'm going to marry her."
Dicky concluded the unburdening of his soul with a shout and a wave of his hat, and all the sparrows flew away.
"Now," said Connie, patting the seat in a soothing fashion, "sit down and tell me how you are going to do it."
Dicky resumed his place beside her and said meekly:--
"I'm looking to you to tell me that, Connie."
Apparently he had made the remark that was expected of him, for Connie immediately assumed a little air of profound wisdom, and her unregenerate husband emitted an unseemly gurgle.
"Your first difficulty, of course," she said to Dicky, ignoring her wretched and ill-controlled spouse, "will be to see Tilly. After the humiliation of yesterday her only instinct will be to hide herself. She will be not-at-home to you every time you call; and of course, it is n't fair that you should hang about in the hopes of catching her outside."
"No," agreed Dicky. "Not the game."
"You have written to her, I suppose?" said Connie.
"Yes. Left a note this morning," replied Dicky, brightening up.