"Wrong? Nothing. Why?"
"You—you looked—sort of—" he stammered, and fled.
She stood a minute looking thoughtfully into the fire. A loud and prolonged rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat on the front door sent her flying into the scullery.
Denis was putting on his coat.
"Royalty at the front door, Denis! You so! Hurry up!"
Denis went to the door. No one was on the doorstep, but a tall footman stood at the gate, holding it back for two white cloth and fur visions to enter.
"By Jove! Ted's relations!"
His hospitable instinct prompted him to greet them as genially as he could. He cast a whimsical glance at their hats pondering on the relative size of them and the hall.
"How-do-you-do? Is our cousin Ted here?"
The hats sailed successfully into the hall, and then stopped abruptly with a little jerk and flutter of chiffon, feathers, and velvet. For before them stood an Object—a dirty Object in smeared shirt-sleeves, with a black smudge across one brazen cheek, and hair sticking up in three jaunty wisps over a coal-dust speckled brow. Moreover, the Object—the Dirty Object—was carrying a very full coal scuttle, swinging it gently to and fro, rather as if he were enjoying the situation and found it funny. And it was their cousin! It was Edward Lancaster!