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voice crying:
    “Is that old Robin Grey?”
    Roberta ran through the doorway into her arms.
    There they all were, in a long white drawing-room with crackling fires at each end and a great gaiety of flowers. Lady Charles, thinner than ever, was not properly up and had bundled herself into a red silk dressing-gown. She wore a net over her grey curls. Her husband stood beside her in his well-remembered morning attitude, a newspaper dangling from his hand, his glass in his eye, and his thin colourless hair brushed across his head. He beamed with pale, myopic eyes at Roberta and inclined his head forward with an obedient air, ready for her kiss. The twins, with shining blond heads and solemn smiles, also kissed her. Patch, an overgrown schoolgirl in a puppy-fat condition, nearly knocked her over, and Mike, eleven years old, looked relieved when Roberta merely shook his hand.
    “Such fun, darling,” said all the Lampreys in their soft voices. “Such fun to see you.”
    Presently they were all sitting before the fire, with Charlot in her chair and Henry in his old place on the hearthrug and the twins collapsed on the sofa. Patch hurled herself onto the arm of Robin’s chair, and Frid stood in an elegant attitude before the fire, and Lord Charles wandered vaguely about the room.
    “Dear me,” said Henry, “I feel like Uriah Heep. It’s as good as the chiming of old bells to see Robin Grey in the flesh.”
    The twins murmured agreeably and Colin said: “You haven’t grown much.”
    “I know,” said Roberta. “I’m a pygmy.”
    “A nice pygmy,” said Charlot.
    “Do you think she’s pretty?” asked Frid. “I do.”
    “Not exactly pretty,” said Stephen. I’d call her attractive.”
    “Really!” Said Lord Charles mildly. “Does Robin, who I must say looks delightful, enjoy a public dissection of her charms?”
    “Yes,” said Roberta. “From the family, I do.”
    “Of course she does,” shouted Patch, dealing Roberta a violent buffet across the shoulders.
    “What do you think of
me
?” asked Frid, striking an attitude. “Aren’t I quite, quite lovely?”
    “Don’t tell her she is,” said Colin. “The girl’s a nymphomaniac.”
    “Darling!” murmured Lady Charles.
    “My dear Colin,” said his father, “it really would be a good idea if you stick to the words you understand.”
    “Well,” Frid reasoned, “you may thank your lucky stars I am so lovely. After all, looks go a long way on the stage. I may have to keep you all, and in the near future, too.”
    “Apropos,” said Henry, “I fancy there’s a bum downstairs, chaps.”
    “Oh
no
!” cried the Lampreys.
    “The signs are ominous. I told Stamford you were out, Daddy.”
    “Then I suppose I’d better stay in,” muttered Lord Charles. “Who can it be this time? Not Smith & Weekly’s again, surely? I wrote them an admirable letter explaining that—”
    “Circumstances over which we had no control,” suggested Stephen.
    “I put it better than that, Stephen.”
    “Mike,” said Lady Charles, “be an angel and run out on the landing. If you see a little man—”
    “In a bowler,” said Henry and Frid.
    “Yes, of course in a bowler. If you see him, don’t say anything but just come and tell Mummy, darling, will you?”
    “Righto,” said Mike politely. “Is he a bum, Mummy?”
    “We think so but it’s nothing to worry about. Do hurry, Mikey darling.”
    Mike grinned disarmingly and began to hop out of the room on one leg.
    “I can hop for miles,” he said.
    “Well, run quietly for a change.”
    Mike gave a Red-Indian call and began to crawl out. The twins rose in a menacing fashion. He uttered a shrill yelp and ran.
    “Isn’t he heaven?” Lady Charles asked Roberta.
    “There’s the lift!” Colin ejaculated.
    “It’ll only be Mike t-taking a run down and up,” said Stephen. “I understand that Mike’s playing with the lift is rather unpopular.”
    “I bet it’s the bum,” said Colin. “Has Baskett been