. Mark the scent of mimosa--she likes
flowers, and likes them strong. No clock, of course. Examine the
bureau--she is obviously always ringing for "the drumstick," and saying:
"Where's this, Ellen, and where's that? You naughty gairl, you've been
tidying." Cast an eye on that pile of manuscript--she has evidently a
genius for composition; it flows off her pen--like Shakespeare, she never
blots a line. See how she's had the electric light put in, instead of
that horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on--you can't; last
quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you can tell
that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to the name
of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all prominent eyes
rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes, Carmen looks as if she
didn't know what was coming next; she's right--it's a pet-and-slap-again
life! Consider, too, the fittings of the tea-tray, rather soiled, though
not quite tin, but I say unto you that no millionaire's in all its glory
ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'

When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front of
the little house, preceded by the announcement "Mr. Aesop," it was
resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing
the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short
intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on the
sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob Pillin
muttering: "Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!" and gazing at Phyllis over his
collar. And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all this
noise, the little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes. At sight of their
visitor Jock blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the sofa,
placed his chin on its top, so that nothing but his round pink unmoving
face was visible; and the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord.

Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the
gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the
sofa. It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock
emitted a hollow groan. Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence.

"How are you, sir? I hope it's gone through."

Old Heythorp nodded. His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne
murmured:

"Guardy, you must try our new liqueur. Jock, you awful boy, get up and
bring Guardy a glass."

The boy Jock approached