He did the honours of his room very simply and nicely, and he said it was
pretty rough to think this was the last of it. After which he faltered,
and something occurred to Mrs Saintsbury.

"Why, we're keeping you! It's time for you to dress for the Tree.
John"--she reproached her husband--"how could you let us do it?"

"Far be it from me to hurry ladies out of other people's
houses--especially ladies who have put themselves in charge of other
people."

"No, don't hurry," pleaded Mavering; "there's plenty of time."

"How much time?" asked Mrs. Saintsbury.

He looked at his watch. "Well, a good quarter of an hour."

"And I was to have taken Mrs. Pasmer and Alice home for a little rest
before the Tree!" cried Mrs Saintsbury. "And now we must go at once, or
we shall get no sort of places."

In the civil and satirical parley which followed, no one answered
another, but young Mavering bore as full a part as the elder ladies, and
only his father and Alice were silent: his guests got themselves out of
his room. They met at the threshold a young fellow, short and dark and
stout, in an old tennis suit. He fell back at sight of them, and took off
his hat to Mrs. Saintsbury.

"Why, Mr. Boardman!"