Again he performed the fascinating wink.

They crept on tiptoe into the hall, but—­the drawing-room door was ajar.

“William!”

William’s heart stood still.  He could hear his mother coming across the room, then—­she stood in the doorway.  Her face filled with horror as her eye fell upon Mr. Blank.

“William!” she said.

William’s feelings were beyond description.  Desperately he sought for an explanation for his friend’s presence.  With what pride and sang-froid had Robert announced his uninvited guest!  William determined to try it, at any rate.  He advanced boldly into the drawing-room.

“This is Mr. Blank, mother,” he announced jauntily.  “He hasn’t got no ears.”

Mr. Blank stood in the background, awaiting developments.  Flight was now impossible.

The announcement fell flat.  There was nothing but horror upon the five silent faces that confronted William.  He made a last desperate effort.

“He’s bin in the war,” he pleaded.  “He’s—­killed folks.”

Then the unexpected happened.

Mrs. de Vere Carter rose with a smile of welcome.  In her mind’s eye she saw the touching story already in print—­the tattered hero—­the gracious lady—­the age of Democracy.  The stage was laid and that dark, pale young man had only to watch and listen.

“Ah, one of our dear heroes!  My poor, brave man!  A cup of tea, my dear,” turning to William’s thunderstruck mother.  “And he may sit down, may he not?” She kept her face well turned towards the sardonic-looking Mr. Lewes.  He must not miss a word or gesture.  “How proud we are to do anything for our dear heroes!  Wounded, perhaps?  Ah, poor man!” She floated across to him with a cup of tea and plied him with bread and butter and cake.  William sat down meekly on a chair, looking rather pale.  Mr. Blank, whose philosophy was to take the goods the gods gave and not look to the future, began to make a hearty meal.  “Are you looking for work, my poor man?” asked Mrs. de Vere Carter, leaning forward in her chair.

Her poor man replied with simple, manly directness that he “was dam’d if he was.  See?” Mr. Lewes began to discuss The Drama with Robert.  Mrs. de Vere Carter raised her voice.

“How you must have suffered!  Yes, there is suffering ingrained in your face.  A piece of shrapnel?  Ten inches square?  Right in at one hip and out at the other?  Oh, my poor man! How I feel for you.  How all class distinctions vanish at such a time.  How——­”

[Illustration:  “ARE YOU LOOKING FOR WORK, MY POOR MAN?” ASKED MRS. DE VERE CARTER.]

She stopped while Mr. Blank drank his tea.  In fact, all conversation ceased while Mr. Blank drank his tea, just as conversation on a station ceases while a train passes through.

Mrs. Brown looked helplessly around her.  When Mr. Blank had eaten a plate of sandwiches, a plate of bread and butter, and half a cake, he rose slowly, keeping one hand over the pocket in which reposed the silver ornaments.