William languished, bridled and ogled in a fashion seen nowhere on
earth except in his imitations of his sister when engaged in
conversation with one of the male sex. If reproduced at the right
moment, it was guaranteed to drive her to frenzy, "I'm _so_ glad to
see you. Yes, of course I really am! I wouldn't say it if I wasn't!"

The drawing-room door opened and a chatter of conversation and a
rustling of dresses arose from the hall. Oh, crumbs! They were going
in to supper. Yes, the dining-room door closed; the coast was clear.
William took out the rather battered-looking delicacy from under the
bed and considered it thoughtfully. The dish was big and awkwardly
shaped. He must find something that would go under his coat better
than that. He couldn't march through the hall and out of the front
door, bearing a cream blanc-mange, naked and unashamed. And the back
door through the kitchen was impossible. With infinite care but little
success as far as the shape of the blanc-mange was concerned, he
removed it from its dish on to his soap-dish. He forgot, in the
excitement of the moment, to remove the soap, but, after all, it was
only a small piece. The soap-dish was decidedly too small for it, but,
clasped to William's bosom inside his coat, it could be partly
supported by his arm outside. He descended the stairs cautiously. He
tip-toed lightly past the dining-room door (which was slightly ajar),
from which came the shrill, noisy, meaningless, conversation of the
grown-ups. He was just about to open the front door when there came
the sound of a key turning in the lock.

William's heart sank. He had forgotten the fact that his father
generally returned from his office about this time.

William's father came into the hall and glanced at his youngest