"That sort of thing," explained d.i.c.ky, "is done for one by one's parents, I believe. I am rather young, you see," he added apologetically.

He rose, gently displacing his small admirer from his knee.

"Now I must be off," he said. "Give this to Tilly for me, will you?"

Amelia was still twisting and turning the letter in her hands when the bang of the front door signalled d.i.c.ky's departure.

"If his parents are going to break it off for him," said Amelia to herself in a puzzled whisper, "what does he want to go writing to her for?"

CHAPTER XXIV

A GARDEN PLOT IN RUSSELL SQUARE

Outside, leaning contentedly against the railings of the garden opposite to the Maison Welwyn, and enjoying the spring sunshine, d.i.c.ky encountered the Carmyles.

"Hallo, you two!" he said. "What are you doing here? Liable to get run in for loitering, hanging about like this."

"We have followed you, d.i.c.ky," began Connie rapidly, "to tell you that your mother is coming up to town, and--"

"Mother--already?"

Connie nodded.

"Fourth speed in," confirmed Mr. Carmyle. "Live axle--direct drive--open exhaust."

"Trailing your father behind her," added Connie. "I understand you had an interview with them this morning."

The Freak gave a wry smile.

"I did," he said. "It was rather a heated interview, I'm afraid. Words pa.s.sed. But we can't stand here dodging taxis. Come into the garden, Maud!"

"Don't we require a key?" enquired the re-christened Connie, surveying the iron railings which enclosed the Bloomsbury Eden.

"I have one," said d.i.c.ky. "It belongs to the Welwyns. Tilly and I used to use it a good deal," he explained, in a subdued voice.

He led the way into the dingy but romantic pleasance which had sheltered himself and his beloved, and the trio sat down upon a damp seat. Mrs.

Carmyle, looking rather like one of the sparrows which hopped inquisitively about her daintily shod feet, established herself between her two large companions. Her husband, who was a creature of homely instincts, hung his silk hat upon an adjacent bough with a sigh of content, and began to fill a large briar pipe. d.i.c.ky, a prey to melancholy, kicked the gra.s.s with his heels.

"Where is Tilly this morning?" asked Connie.

"Gone out--to look for a job!" replied d.i.c.ky through his clenched teeth.

"Just as if a snug home and the life of a lady were things she had never dreamed of!" His eyes blazed. "Great Heavens, Connie--the pluck of the child! What a brute it makes me feel!"

Connie patted his hand maternally, but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Presently d.i.c.ky continued, in a more even voice:--

"So my mother is coming up this morning--to strike while the iron is hot--eh?"

"'To make a direct appeal to Miss Welwyn's better nature,' was what she _said_," replied Mrs. Carmyle cautiously.

"I am afraid there will be a bit of a sc.r.a.p," said d.i.c.ky thoughtfully.

"My dear mother's normal att.i.tude towards her fellow-creatures is that of a righteous person compelled to travel third-cla.s.s with a first-cla.s.s ticket; but when she goes on the warpath into the bargain--well, that is where I take cover."

"She'll roll the Welwyns out flat," observed Mr. Carmyle, with that conviction which only painful experience can instill.

"She won't roll Tilly out flat," said d.i.c.ky.

"Nor Mrs. Welwyn either," added Connie; "so kindly refrain from putting in your oar, Bill! We are n't all terrified of Lady Adela. _Cowardy, cowardy, cus--_"

Mr. Carmyle, flushing with shame, abruptly invited his small oppressor to switch off; and d.i.c.ky proceeded to review the situation.

"I don't think my dear parent will get much change out of any of the Welwyns," he said. "They are a fairly competent lot. Moreover, they have burned their boats and have nothing to lose; so I expect there will be some very pretty work. My lady mother is an undoubted champion in her cla.s.s, I admit, but she has got a bit out of condition lately.

Managing Dad and harrying the County are n't really sufficient to keep a woman of her fighting-weight up to the mark. Still, I don't particularly want her big guns let loose on Tilly."

"Tilly has gone out for the day, I suppose?" said Connie.

"So I was told. But how did you guess?"

Connie Carmyle flapped her small hands despairingly.

"Oh, what creatures!" she cried, apparently apostrophising the male s.e.x in general. "Can't you understand anything or anybody--not even the girl you love? Of course, she is out for the day; and if you go there to-morrow she will be out for the day, too!"

"Why?" asked d.i.c.ky blankly.

"Yes--why?" echoed that sympathetic but obtuse Philistine, Bill Carmyle.

His wife turned upon him like lightning.

"Bill," she said, "keep perfectly quiet, or I shall send you off to meet Lady Adela's train at Waterloo! I want to talk to d.i.c.ky. Now, d.i.c.ky, listen to me. That little girl"--Connie's eyes grew suddenly tender, for she loved her s.e.x--"cares for you, old man--quite a lot. Quite enough, in fact, to draw back if she thinks she is going to stand in your way during life. That pathetic little fraud of a tea-party yesterday has set her thinking. She has suddenly realised that although she might _get_ you by false pretences, she could not _keep_ you by false pretences--nor want to. She has also realised that her Family are impossible. That means that she will have to give up either you or the Family. And you are the one she will give up, d.i.c.ky. She loves you too much to pull you down to their level. She won't give that as her reason--women are built like that--but she will give you up, all the same."

The usually placid d.i.c.ky had grown excessively agitated during this homily.

"Connie," he burst out, "for goodness' sake don't try to frighten me like that! Tilly's Family are not impossible. They 're only a bit improbable. And besides, talking of impossible families, look at mine!

Do you know who my grandfather was? He was a Lancashire cotton operative--a hand in a mill. He invented something--a shuttle, or a bobbin, or something of that kind--and made a fortune out of it. He ultimately died worth a hundred thousand pounds; but to the end of his days he dined without his coat, and, if he could possibly escape detection, without his collar either. I never saw him, but my Dad says he was a dear old chap, and I can quite believe it. As a father-in-law he was a sore trial to my poor mother, whose ancestors had worn their collars at meals for quite a considerable period; but the hundred thousand overcame her susceptibilities in the end, and she and Dad have lived happily ever since."

d.i.c.ky rose restlessly to his feet, and continued his address standing.

"Now I think," he said, "that we can set my grandfather, cotton operative, against the late lamented Banks, plumber and gas-fitter.

Banks, of course, was the bigger man socially--you know how plumbers get asked simply _everywhere_--but Mainwaring's son married the daughter of an Earl; so we will call them quits. Anyway, Tilly is quite as good as I am--miles better, in fact."

"Dear d.i.c.ky!" murmured Connie approvingly. Here was a lover of the right metal.

"What about friend Perce?" enquired a gruff voice.

It was a telling question. If d.i.c.ky could clothe such an uncompromising fact as Percy Welwyn in a garment of romance, he was capable of making a success of any marriage. Mr. Carmyle waited grimly for his answer.