Bless us! What will he think of us being here like?" Mrs Machin
mumbled.

"Pooh!" said Denry, carelessly. And he opened the door.

V

Three persons stood on the newly-washed marble step--Mr and Mrs
Cotterill and their daughter.

"Oh! Come in! Come in! Make yourselves quite at home. That's what
_we're_ doing," said Demo in blithe greeting; and added, "I suppose
he's invited you too?"

And it appeared that Mr Cecil Wilbraham had indeed invited them too. He
had written from London saying that he would be glad if Mr and Mrs
Cotterill would "drop in" on this particular evening. Further, he had
mentioned that, as be had already had the pleasure of meeting Miss
Cotterill, perhaps she would accompany her parents.

"Well, he isn't here," said Denry, shaking hands. "He must have missed
his train or something. He can't possibly be here now till to-morrow.
But the house seems to be all ready for him...."

"Yes, my word! And how's yourself, Mrs Cotterill?" put in Mrs Machin.

"So we may as well look over it in its finished state. I suppose that's
what he asked us up for," Denry concluded.

Mrs Machin explained quickly and nervously that she had not been
comprised in any invitation; that her errand was pure business.

"Come on upstairs," Denry called out, turning switches and adding
radiance to radiance.

"Denry!" his mother protested, "I'm sure I don't know what Mr and Mrs
Cotterill will think of you! You carry on as if you owned everything in
the place. I wonder _at_ you!"

"Well," said Denry, "if anybody in this town is the owner's agent I am.
And Mr Cotterill has built the blessed house. If Wilbraham wanted to
keep his old shanty to himself, he shouldn't send out invitations. It's
simple enough not to send out invitations. Now, Nellie!"

He was hanging over the balustrade at the curve of the stairs.

The familiar ease with which he said, "Now, Nellie," and especially the
spontaneity of Nellie's instant response, put new thoughts into the mind
of Mrs Machin. But she neither pricked up her ears, nor started back,
nor accomplished any of the acrobatic feats which an ordinary mother of
a wealthy son would have performed under similar circumstances. Her ears
did not even tremble. And she just said:

"I like this balustrade knob being of black china."

"Every knob in the house is of black china," said Denry. "Never shows
dirt. But if you should take it into your head to clean it, you can do
it with a damp cloth in