You can't make yourself out too bad. If you don't pitch it hot and
strong, her ladyship might quite likely forgive you. Then where would
you be?"

Miss Maud Chilvers, of Aldershot, burst into Roland's life like one
of the shells of her native heath two days later at about five in the
afternoon.

It was an entrance of which any stage-manager might have been proud
of having arranged. The lighting, the grouping, the lead-up--all were
perfect. The family had just finished tea in the long drawing-room.
Lady Kimbuck was crocheting, Lord Evenwood dozing, Lady Eva reading, and
Roland thinking. A peaceful scene.

A soft, rippling murmur, scarcely to be reckoned a snore, had just
proceeded from Lord Evenwood's parted lips, when the door opened, and
Teal announced, "Miss Chilvers."

Roland stiffened in his chair. Now that the ghastly moment had come, he
felt too petrified with fear even to act the little part in which he had
been diligently rehearsed by the obliging Mr. Teal. He simply sat and
did nothing.

It was speedily made clear to him that Miss Chilvers would do all the
actual doing that was necessary. The butler had drawn no false picture
of her personal appearance. Dyed yellow hair done all frizzy was but one
fact of her many-sided impossibilities. In the serene surroundings of
the long drawing-room, she looked more unspeakably "not much good" than
Roland had ever imagined her. With such a leading lady, his drama
could not fail of success. He should have been pleased; he was merely
appalled. The thing might have a happy ending, but while it lasted it
was going to be terrible.

She had a flatteringly attentive reception. Nobody failed to notice her.
Lord Evenwood woke with a start, and stared at her as if she had been
some ghost from his trouble of '85. Lady Eva's face expressed sheer
amazement. Lady Kimbuck, laying down her crochet-work, took one look at
the apparition, and instantly decided that one of her numerous erring
relatives had been at it again. Of all the persons in the room, she
was possibly the only one completely cheerful. She was used to these
situations and enjoyed them. Her mind, roaming into the past, recalled
the night when her cousin Warminster had been pinked by a stiletto in
his own drawing-room by a lady from South America. Happy days, happy
days.

Lord Evenwood had, by this time, come to the conclusion that the festive
Blowick must be responsible for this visitation. He rose with dignity.