all round, and the hiatus thus made was covered with linoleum which, rather unsuccessfully, tried to look like a parquet floor. There were many pictures on the wall in bright gilt frames, varied by hand-painted plaques and enlarged photographs. The "suite" of furniture was covered with brocade in a shade known as old gold; and a handsome cabinet with glass doors, and shelves covered with pale blue plush, held articles which in turn held pleasant memories for the Thomsons—objects of art from the Rue de Rivoli (they had all been in Paris for a fortnight last July) and cow-bells and carved bears from Lucerne.
"There's nothing enlarges the mind like travel," was a favourite saying of Mr. Thomson's, and his wife never failed to reply, "That's true, Papa, I'm sure."
To-night, in preparation for the party, the chairs and tables were pushed back to the wall, and various seats from the parlour and even the best bedroom had been introduced where they would be least noticed; a few forms with holland covers had also been hired from the baker for the occasion. The piano stood open, with "The Rosary" on the stand; the incandescent lights in their pink globes were already lit, and a fire—a small one, for the room would get hot presently—burned in the yellow-tiled grate.
Mr. and Mrs. Thomson paused for a moment in the doorway in order to surprise themselves.
"Well, well," said Mr. Thomson, while his wife hurried to the fireside to sweep away a fallen cinder. "You've been successful with your colour scheme, Mamma, I must say that. The yellow and white's cheery, and the blue of the carpet makes a fine contrast. You've taste right enough."
Mrs. Thomson, with her head on one side, regarded the room which, truth to say, in every detail seemed to her perfect, then she gave a long sigh.
"I don't know about taste, Papa," she said; "but how ever we'll keep all that white paint beats me. I'm thinking it'll be either me or Jessie that'll have to do it. I could not trust Annie in here, poor girl! She has such hashy ways. Now, Alick," to that youth who had sprung on her from behind, "try and behave well to-night, and not shame your sister before the Simpsons that she thinks so much of. I'm told Ewan Simpson was a perfect gentleman in an Eton suit at their party."
"Haw, haw!" laughed Alick derisively. "Who's wantin' to be a gentleman? Not me, anyway. Here, Mamma, are you going to ask wee Taylor to sing? Uch, do, he's a comic——"
"Alick," said his father reprovingly. "Mr. Taylor's not coming here to-night for you to laugh at."
"I know that," said Alick, rolling his head and looking somewhat abashed.
The entrance of Jessie and Robert diverted his parents' attention.
Jessie stood in the middle of the room and slowly turned herself round that her family might see her from all points of view.
"D'you like it, Mamma?" she asked.
"Yes, Jessie," said her mother slowly, "I do. Miss White's done well. The skirt hangs beautiful, and I must say the Empire style is becoming to you, though for myself I prefer the waist in its natural place. Walk to the door—yes—elegant."
"Very fine, Jessie," said her father.
"Do you like it, Robert?" asked Jessie.
Robert put down his book for a moment, glanced at his sister, nodded his head and said "Ucha," then returned to it.
"You're awful proud, Jessie," said Alick; "you think you're somebody."
"Never mind him, Jessie," said Mrs. Thomson. "Are ye sure we've got enough cups? Nobody'll be likely to take both tea and coffee, I suppose? Except mebbe Mr. Taylor—I whiles think that wee man's got both eatin' and drinkin' diabetes. I must say it seems to me a cold-like thing to let them sit from eight to ten without a bite. My way was to invite them at six and give them a hearty set-down tea, and then at ten we had supper, lemonade and jam tartlets and fruit, and I'm sure nothing could have been nicer. Many a one has said to me, 'Mrs. Thomson, they're no parties like your parties; they're that hearty.' How ever'll they begin the evening when they're not cheered with a cup o' tea?"
"We'll begin with music, Mamma," said Jessie.
Mrs. Thomson sniffed.
"I do hope Annie'll manage the showing in all right," went on Jessie. "The Simpsons had one letting you in and another waiting in the bedrooms to help you off with your things."
Mrs. Thomson drew herself up.
"My friends are all capable of taking off their own things, Jessie, I'm thankful to say. They don't need a lady's maid; nor does Mrs. Simpson, let me tell you, for when I first knew her she did her own washing."
"Uch, Mamma," said Jessie.
"It's five minutes to eight," said Alick, "and I hear steps. I bet it's wee Taylor."
"Mercy!" said Mrs. Thomson, hunting wildly for her slippers which she had kicked off. "Am I all right, Jessie? Give me a book—any one—yes, that."
Alick heaved a stout volume—Shakespeare's Country with Coloured Illustrations—into his mother's lap, and she at once became absorbed in it, sitting stiffly in her chair, her skirt spread out.
Mr. Thomson looked nervous; Robert retreated vaguely towards the window curtains; even Jessie felt a little uncertain, though preserving an outward calm.
"There's the bell," said Alick; "I'm off."
Jessie clutched him by his coat. "You can't go now," she hissed. "I hear Annie going to the door."
They heard the sound of the front door opening, then a murmur of voices and a subdued titter from Annie, and it closed. Next Annie's skurrying footsteps were heard careering wildly for the best bedroom, followed—a long way behind—by other footsteps. Then the drawing-room door opened prematurely, and Mr. Taylor appeared.
CHAPTER II
"Madam, the guests are come!"
Romeo and Juliet.
Mr. Taylor was a small man, with legs that did not seem to be a pair. He wore a velveteen coat, a white waistcoat, a lavender tie, and a flower in his buttonhole. In the doorway he stood rubbing his hands together and beaming broadly on the Thomsons.
"The girrl wanted me to wait on Mrs. Taylor coming downstairs, but I says to her, 'No ceremony for me, I'm a plain man,' and in I came. How are you, Mrs. Thomson? And is Jessie a good wee miss? How are you, Thomson—and Rubbert? Alick, you've grown out of recognition."
"Take this chair, Mr. Taylor," said Mrs. Thomson, while Shakespeare's Country with Coloured Illustrations slipped unheeded to the floor; and Jessie glared her disapproval of the little man.
"Not at all. I'll sit here. Expecting quite a gathering to-night, Mrs. Thomson?"
"Well, Mr. Taylor, they're mostly young people, friends of Jessie's," Mrs. Thomson explained.
"Quite so. Quite so. I'm at home among the young people, Mrs. Thomson. Always a pleasure to see them enjoy theirselves. Here comes Mrs. Taylor. C'me away, m'dear, into the
