Martha Welwyn suddenly flung her arms round her little daughter.
"My precious," she whispered impulsively, "I would n't mind if it was n't for you children." Her voice broke. "God pity women!"
"Mother, Mother!" cried little 'Melia reprovingly. "That's not like you!" And she hugged her tearful but contrite parent back to cheerfulness again.
A door banged downstairs, and the two fell apart guiltily.
"That's Tilly," said Mrs. Welwyn. "We must n't be downhearted, or she'll scold us. Bustle about!"
With great vigour and presence of mind this excellent woman snatched the cloth off the table and shook it severely. Amelia, having hastily removed a tear from her mother's cheek with a duster, opened the piano and began to wipe down the keys, to the accompaniment of an inharmonious chromatic scale.
The door flew open and Tilly marched in, humming a cheerful air.
"Such luck, Mother!" she cried.
For a moment Martha Welwyn was deceived. She whirled round excitedly.
"What do you mean, dearie?" she exclaimed.