Mrs. Carmyle replied by quoting a famous and oracular phrase which had lately fallen from the lips of a prominent statesman, and the party reached the railings.
"Hallo, there's a taxi at the Welwyns' door," said Carmyle. "I wonder--oh, Lord!"
He fell hastily to the rear, his knees knocking together. Two figures were ascending the steps of the house. One was majestic and purposeful; the other small and reluctant. The front door opened and closed upon them.
"My mother--already!" exclaimed Dicky in dismay.
That burned child, William Carmyle, broke into a gentle perspiration.
"Never mind," said Connie reassuringly. "She was bound to come. She can't do any harm."
"Supposing she gets Tilly to agree never to see me again?" said Dicky feverishly. "Supposing she insults her with money?" He ground his teeth, and Carmyle groaned sympathetically.
Connie patted his arm soothingly.
"The last word is the only thing that matters in this case," she said with great confidence; "and you are going to have that, Dicky, my friend. Now, run away and pack your portmanteau. Then come and lunch with us at Prince's. I must fly. I have an appointment with a gentleman at Russell Square Tube Station at twelve-thirty. It is after that now."
Dicky glanced at Bill Carmyle for an explanation of this mysterious assignation, but that gentleman merely shook his head in a bewildered fashion.