Dowager, up in the Square.

How to get away! That was the thing that worried me. I'd just
made up my mind to have a lucid interval, when cr-creak, the
front door opened, and in walked--

Tom, you're mighty cute--so cute you'll land us both behind bars
some day--but you can't guess who came in on our little family
party. Yes--oh, yes, you've met him.

Well, the old duffer whose watch was ticking inside my waist
that very minute! Yes, sir, the same red-faced, big-necked fellow
we'd spied getting full at the little station in the country.
Only, he was a bit mellower than when you grabbed his chain.
Well, he was Edward.

I almost dropped the cup when I saw him. The Dowager took it
from me, saying:

"There, dear, don't be nervous. It's only--only--"

She got lost. It couldn't be my daddy--the Bishop was that. But
it was her husband, so who could it be?

"Evening, Bishop. Hello, Henrietta, back so soon from the
opera?" roared Edward, in a big, husky voice. He'd had more
since we saw him, but he walked straight as the Bishop himself,
and he's a dear little ramrod. "Ah!"--his eyes lit up at sight
of me--"ah, Miss--Miss--of course, I've met the young lady,
Henrietta, but hang me if I haven't forgotten her name."