“Dear me!” I replied, “so you are.  I remember—­you had to go upstairs, hadn’t you.  Please don’t mind,” I went on hastily as Isabel looked distressed, “you couldn’t help it.  I was very unexpected, and I might have been dangerous.  How—­how you’ve grown!” I really couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Isabel blushed again, Dicky observing with absorbed adoration.  It was lovely colour.  “You know I haven’t really,” she said, “it’s all one’s long frocks and doing up one’s hair, you know.”

“Miss Portheris only came out two months ago,” remarked Mr. Dod, with the effect of announcing that Venus had just arisen from the foam.

“Come, young people,” Mrs. Portheris exclaimed from the lift; “we are waiting for you.”  Poppa and momma and Mr. Mafferton were already inside.  Mrs. Portheris stood in the door.  As Isabel entered, I saw that Mr. Dod was making the wildest efforts to communicate something to me with his left eye.

“Come, young people,” repeated Mrs. Portheris.

“Do you think it’s safe for so many?” asked Dicky doubtfully.  “Suppose anything should give, you know!”

Mrs. Portheris looked undecided.  Momma, from the interior, immediately proposed to get out.

“Safe as a church,” remarked the Senator.

“What do you mean, Dod?” demanded Mr. Mafferton.

“Well, it’s like this,” said Dicky; “Miss Wick is rather nervous about overcrowding, and I think it’s better to run no risks myself.  You all go down, and we’ll follow you next trip.  See?”

“I suppose you will hardly allow that, Mrs. Wick,” said our relation, with ominous portent.

“Est ce que vous voulez a descendre, monsieur?” inquired the official attached to the elevator, with some impatience.

“I don’t see what there is to object to—­I suppose it would be safer,” momma replied anxiously, and the official again demanded if we were going down.

“Not this trip, thank you,” said Dicky, and turned away.  Mrs. Portheris, who had taken her seat, rose with dignity.  “In that case,” said she, “I also will remain at the top;” but her determination arrived too late.  With a ferocious gesture the little official shut the door and gave the signal, and Mrs. Portheris sank earthwards, a vision of outraged propriety.  I felt sorry for momma.

“And now,” I inquired of Mr. Dod, “why was the elevator not safe?”

“I’ll tell you,” said Dicky.  “Do you know Mrs. Portheris well?”

“Very slightly indeed,” I replied.

“Not well enough to—­sort of chum up with our party, I suppose.”

“Not for worlds,” said I.

Dicky looked so disconsolate that I was touched.

“Still,” I said, “you’d better trot out the circumstances, Dicky.  We haven’t forgotten what you did in your humble way, you know, at election time.  I can promise for the family that we’ll do anything we can.  You mustn’t ask us to poison her, but we might lead her into the influenza.”