There was no knowing how long this absorbing conversation might have continued (it had already attracted the attention of Miss Felicia) had not a great stir taken place at the door of the outside hall.  Somebody was coming upstairs; or had come upstairs; somebody that Peter was laughing with—­great, hearty laughs, which showed his delight; somebody that made Miss Felicia raise her head and listen, a light breaking over her face.  Then Peter’s head was thrust in the door: 

“Here he is, Felicia.  Come along, Holker—­I have been wondering—­”

“Been wondering what, Peter?  That I’d stay away a minute longer than I could help after this dear lady had arrived? ...  Ah, Miss Felicia!  Just as magnificent and as young as ever.  Still got that Marie Antoinette look about you—­you ought really—­”

“Stop that nonsense, Holker, right away,” she cried, advancing a step to greet him.

“But it’s all true, and—­”

“Stop, I tell you; none of your sugar-coated lies.  I am seventy if I am a day, and look it, and if it were not for these furbelows I would look eighty.  Now tell me about yourself and Kitty and the boys, and whether the Queen has sent you the Gold Medal yet, and if the big Library is finished and—­”

“Whew! what a cross examination.  Wait—­I’ll draw up a set of specifications and hand them in with a new plan of my life.”

“You will do nothing of the kind!  You will draw up a chair—­here, right alongside of me, and tell me about Kitty and—­No, Peter, he is not going to be taken over and introduced to Ruth for at least five minutes.  Peter has fallen in love with her, Holker, and I do not blame him.  One of these young fellows—­there he is still talking to her—­hasn’t left her side since he put his eyes on her.  Now begin—­The Medal?—­

“Expected by next steamer.”

“The Corn Exchange?”

“All finished but the inside work.”

“Kitty?”

“All finished but the outside work.”

Miss Felicia looked up.  “Your wife, I mean, you stupid fellow.”

“Yes, I know.  She would have come with me but her dress didn’t arrive in time.”

Miss Felicia laughed:  “And the boys?”

“Still in Paris—­buying bric-a-brac and making believe they’re studying architecture and—­But I’m not going to answer another question.  Attention!  Miss Felicia Grayson at the bar!”

The dear lady straightened her back, her face crinkling with merriment.

“Present!” she replied, drawing down the corners Of her mouth.

“When did you leave home?  How long will you stay?  Can you come to dinner—­you and Methusaleh—­on Wednesday night?”

“I refuse to answer by advice of counsel.  As to coming to dinner, I am not going anywhere for a week—­then I am coming to you and Kitty, whether it is Wednesday or any other night.  Now, Peter, take him away.  He’s so puffed up with his Gold Medal he’s positively unbearable.”