THE REAL TILLY
Mr. Mehta Ram promptly fell at the feet of Mr. Welwyn, and attempted, in
true Old Testament fashion, to embrace that embarrassed scholar and
gentleman by the knees.
"Keep him out!" he shrieked. "Great snakes, I implore you! Lock the
door!"
In the absence of the snakes this office was performed by Percy and
Dicky. Directly afterwards there was a rush of feet down the staircase,
and a fusilade of blows began to rain upon the panels.
"Open the door!" commanded a voice, in a frenzied Paisley accent. "I'm
wanting in! Tae break his neck," it added in explanation.
Dicky and Percy promptly put their backs against the door. Mrs. Welwyn
crossed hastily to her husband's side.
"It's that Pumpherston," she announced in a low voice. "What are we to
do?"
Mr. Welwyn addressed the suppliant at his feet.
"Come, Mr. Mehta Ram," he said, "don't be frightened. He can't get in.
What is the trouble?"
Mr. Mehta Ram lifted his face from Mr. Welwyn's boots and addressed the
company at large.
"Mr. Welwyn, Mrs. Welwyn, and general public," he began--the latter
designation was apparently intended for the Mainwaring family, who, with
the exception of Dicky, had ranged themselves into a compact group on
the further side of the room--"I appeal to you as British subject--as a
member of that great Empire upon which the sun never sits--"
"Sets, old comrade!" corrected Dicky from the door.
"Shed your tears!" commanded Mr. Ram, disregarding the interruption.
"Give us a look in! I am in jeopardy--in a damtight place! My adversary
knocks upon the door--the avenging Pumpherston! He arraigns me of petty
larceny. He accuses me that I have confiscated his table. But I am
innocent! I make my defence! I throw myself--Ah-a-a-a-a-h! Help!"
The other door--that leading into Mr. Welwyn's bedroom, which itself
communicated with the landing outside--burst open, and a small,
red-whiskered, and intensely ferocious gentleman bounded in. It was the
avenging Pumpherston.
Mr. Ram bolted across the room like an obese rabbit, and took refuge
behind the hostile but protective form of Lady Adela.
The avenger paused, obviously nonplussed by the size of the assembly.
"I beg your paurdon," he said awkwardly. "I wis not aware--"
He turned, to find Percy and Dicky standing beside him, one at each
shoulder.
"We were half expecting you, Mr. Pumpherston," said Dicky, with a
friendly smile. "But if you and this gentleman are playing
hide-and-seek, the den is upstairs."
"I beg your paurdon," repeated Mr. Pumpherston, whose bellicosity was
fast evaporating, "but yon fat heathen has robbed me. He has lifted a
piece of furniture--Heh! Let me get at him!"
With a convulsive bound he wrenched himself free from his interlocutors
and made a dash for the door. But he was too late. Mr. Mehta Ram,
keeping under the lee of Lady Adela and the furniture, had made use of
the brief respite afforded by the recital of his assailant's grievances
to effect an unostentatious departure, and was now halfway up the
staircase again. The baffled Pumpherston followed him with a long-drawn
howl.
"Come on, Percy!" said Dicky.
The pair raced out in pursuit, banging the door behind them. Presently
from abovestairs came the sound of renewed conflict; a few dull thuds
and muffled crashes; and then--silence.
----
Lady Adela rose to her feet in awful majesty, and addressed the stunned
and demoralised remnants of the tea-party.
"Is this a private asylum," she enquired in trumpet tones, "or is it
not?"
Grandma Banks was the only member of her audience who replied.
"My late 'usband," she whimpered--"my late 'usband, Mr. Josiah Banks!
Greatly respected in 'Itchin--greatly respec--"
Tears coursed slowly down her furrowed cheeks.
In a moment Tilly was kneeling beside her, with her arms round the frail
old body, whispering gently and caressingly into her ear. There was a
long silence, and Sylvia began to pull on her gloves.
"I think we had better be going," said Lady Adela.
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Welwyn helplessly.
But Lucius Welwyn made a last effort. All seemed lost, yet his inherent
polish and _savoir faire_ rebelled against such an inglorious and
ignominious end as this.
"I must apologise most sincerely for this _contretemps_, Lady Adela," he
said with a ready smile. "Those fellows are two disciples of mine. Law
students--British Museum--and so on. They come here periodically to
receive instruction from me in my library upstairs"--Lady Adela looked
up and regarded him steadily, but he continued with perfect
coolness--"but I fear that on this occasion racial animosity has proved
stronger than academic unity of purpose. You will understand, I am
sure."
"Perfectly," replied Lady Adela. "Come, Sylvia."
Sylvia was quite ready, but at this moment the door flew open once more,
and Dicky and Percy reappeared, flushed, panting, but triumphant.
"It's all right, Mrs. Welwyn," announced Dicky reassuringly. "The
brunette gentleman has bolted himself into the bathroom, and we have
locked up the blonde in a broom-cupboard. Hallo, Mum--going?"
"Yes. Come, Sylvia."
"Certainly, Mother," said Sylvia.
Dicky's ear caught the danger-note in his sister's voice. He stood
transfixed, with dismay written across his frank but heated features.
"I say," he stammered. "Mum--Sylvia--what does all this mean?"
"Good-bye, Mrs. Welwyn," said Lady Adela calmly. "Thank you
for--ah--entertaining us. I suppose one can get a cab here?"
She shook Mrs. Welwyn's nerveless hand and turned to Mr. Mainwaring, who
stood awkwardly smoothing his hat.
"Are you ready, Abel?" she enquired.
Suddenly Tilly Welwyn rose from her knees by her grandmother's side,
and, to employ a dramatic expression, took the centre of the stage. She
stood face to face with her departing guests, her head thrown back and
her hands clenched--a very slim, very upright, very dignified little
figure.
"Sit down, please, everybody, if you will be so kind," she said quietly.
"I shan't keep you long."
Lady Adela, looking like a boa-constrictor which has been challenged to
mortal combat by a small and inexperienced chicken, stood stockstill,
with her head oscillating from side to side in a slightly uncertain
fashion. Then, recovering herself, she fell back in good order upon her
supporters.
The Welwyns, closing loyally upon their small champion, spoke in anxious
undertones.
"Don't chuck up the sponge, Sis," whispered Percy encouragingly. "We'll
pull you through."
"Don't lose your head, my child," counselled her father. "You may make
things worse."
"Tilly, dearie, can you ever forgive me?" was all Mrs. Welwyn said. She
forgot, in her selfless grief for the destruction of her daughter's
castle-in-the-air, that she herself had predicted its fall.
Little 'Melia said nothing, but passionately squeezed her sister's hand.
"You are all dears," said Tilly in a clear voice, "and I love you for
the way you have stood by me to-day; but I want to speak to the others
just now."
She took a step forward towards the Mainwarings, who were grouped beside
the tea-table. But before she could speak, Dicky, who had been hovering
silently on the outer wing of his own party, crossed the floor and
joined her.
"I'll come and stand over here, Tilly," he said, "if you don't mind.
There's a nasty draught in that corner."
Tilly smiled faintly.
"I would rather you did n't," she said, with the suspicion of a tremor
in her voice. "Please go over there."
Dicky responded by standing-at-ease, military fashion.
"Carry on," he said briefly.
"Please, Dicky!" urged Tilly, "It only makes it harder for me."
Dicky glanced at her white face, and retired one pace backward.
"That is my limit," he said.
Meanwhile Lady Adela had come to the conclusion that all this was very
emotional and undignified.
"Miss Welwyn," she enquired, "what does this mean?"
"I will tell you," said Tilly. "But first of all I must say one thing.
I did not try to trap your son, as you seem to think. We fell--we came
to care for one another quite naturally. I made no attempt to catch
him. I knew nothing whatever about him. It--it just happened." She
turned wistfully to Dicky. "Did n't it?" she asked.
Dicky nodded his head gravely.
"It just happened," he said.
"And since we cared for one another--or thought we did"--continued Tilly
with a little choke, "it never came into my head that anything else
could matter. But last Saturday, when I went to stay at your house, and
saw your grand ways and your grand servants, and all the commotion you
made about Members of Parliament, and county families, and all
that--well, I began to see rocks ahead. I felt common. My courage
began to fail. I began to be afraid that you would not take kindly to
the Family--"
"It was n't you that was afraid, dearie," said a respectful voice behind
her. "It was the Family."
"I saw, too, Lady Adela," continued Tilly, "that _you_ were against
me--dead against me--and that as soon as you got hold of a decent-excuse
I should be bundled out of your son's life, like--like an entanglement.
That put my back up. I had meant to be perfectly straight and
unpretentious with you, but when I saw what you were after, I determined
to fight. So I have deceived you."
"We all have," murmured a loyal chorus.
"You have been _done_!" proclaimed Tilly defiantly. She was fast losing
control of herself. She felt dimly that she was behaving in an
hysterical and theatrical manner; but when one's world is tumbling about
one's ears, one may be excused for stating the truth rather more
explicitly than is usual. "Yes--_done_!" she repeated. "I will tell
you just exactly who we are and what we are. Father is a gentleman,
right enough"--her voice rang out proudly--"as well-born a gentleman as
any of the land; but he has followed no regular profession for twenty
years, and he lives on Mother. Mother keeps lodgings. This house is a
lodging-house, and those two men you saw were lodgers. Percy works in a
wholesale haberdasher's in Holborn. I do a little dress-designing.
'Melia helps Mother with the lodgers. So you see you have been imposed
on: we work for a living! But you must n't blame the Family for what
has happened. It was my idea from start to finish: the Family only
backed me up. And they did back me up! No girl ever had such a
splendid father or mother, or brother or sister." Tilly stepped back
into the heart of her bodyguard, feeling for friendly hands. "I 'm
proud of them," she cried passionately, "proud to belong to them! I'm
proud that my name is Tilly Welwyn, and I never wish to change it for
any other. We Welwyns may be nobodies but we stick together. There!
You may go now."
The drawing-room door creaked and opened, but no one noticed.
"I have told you everything, I think," said Tilly, more calmly. "I know
now that I should have told you in any case. That's all.... No, it's
not."
She swung round towards the doorway, and pointed to the grotesque figure
of that earnest student of the drama, Samuel Stillbottle, who was
myopically deciphering a small but tattered document, all but concealed
in the palm of his hand.
"We're paupers!" she cried. "We're in debt! We're broke! There's a
distraint on the furniture; and that creature"--Mr. Stillbottle, hazily
conscious that a cue was coming, furtively thrust his manuscript into
his waistcoat pocket--"that creature is a broker's man! Oh, Mother,
Mother, Mother!"
In an instant Martha Welwyn's arms closed round her daughter.
"There, there!" she crooned. "My lamb, my pretty, my precious, my
dearie--don't you cry!"
There was a deathlike stillness, broken only by Tilly's sobs. The
Mainwarings stood like statues. Mr. Welwyn sat on the sofa, his head
bowed between his hands. Grandma Banks slumbered peacefully. The
bewildered but conscientious Stillbottle seized his opportunity, and
cleared his throat.
"The shover, sir," he announced huskily, "is below, a-waitin' for--"
Next moment a hand like a vice closed upon the herald's collar, and
Dicky Mainwaring's voice remarked concisely into his ear:--
"Go to the devil."
Mr. Stillbottle, utterly dazed, raised his head and surveyed the
company. Then he smiled apologetically.
"Wrong entrance," he observed. "My error! _Exit hastily!_"
He turned, and shuffled out.