“We are taking great care, grandmamma,” called Alexander.  “We won’t hurt it.”

This, by showing so far that there was something to be hurt, was so far from reassuring her, that she would certainly have set out on a voyage of discovery, but for Mr. Langford, who professed himself convinced that all was right, and said he would not have the Busy Bee disturbed.

She came in to tea, bringing Alex and Willy with her—­the latter, in a marvellous state of mystery and excitement, longing to tell all himself, and yet in great terror lest the others should tell.

As soon as the tea was despatched, the three actors departed, and presently there was a call from behind the screen, “Are you ready, good people?”

“Go it,” answered Carey.

“Are the elders ready?” said Beatrice’s voice.

“Papa, don’t go on talking to Uncle Geoffrey!” cried Willy.

“Ay, ay, all attention,” said grandpapa.  “Now for it!”

The screen was folded back, and discovered Alex in a pasteboard crown, ermine tippet, and purple mantle, sitting enthroned with Beatrice (a tiara and feathers on her head) at his side, and kneeling before them a nondescript article, consisting chiefly of a fur cloak, a fur cap, adorned with a pair of grey squirrel cuffs, sewn ingeniously into the form of ears, a boa by way of tail, and an immense pair of boots.  As Uncle Geoffrey said, the cat was certainly out of the bag, and it proceeded in due form to take two real partridges from the bag, and present them to the king and princess in the name of the Marquis Carabbas.

The king and princess made some consultation as to who the marquis might be, the princess proposing to send for the Peerage, and the king cross-examining puss in an incredulous way which greatly puzzled him, until at last he bethought himself of exclaiming, in a fierce manner, “I’ve told you the truth, Mr. King, and if you won’t believe me, I can’t help it!” and walked off on his hind legs in as dignified and resentful a manner as his boots would let him; repairing to the drawing-room to have his accoutrements admired, while the screen was again spread in preparation for Scene II.

Scene II. presented but a half-length, a shawl being hung in front, so as to conceal certain incongruities.  A great arm-chair was wheeled close to the table, on which stood an aged black jack out of the hall, a quart measure, and a silver tankard; while in the chair, a cushion on his head, and a great carving-knife held like a sceptre in his hand, reclined Alex, his bulk enlarged by at least two pillows, over which an old, long-breasted white satin waistcoat, embroidered with silver, had with some difficulty been brought to meet.  Before him stood a little figure in a cloth cap, set jauntily on one side, decorated with a fox’s brush, and with Mrs. Frederick Langford’s three feathers, and a coat bearing marvellous resemblance to Beatrice’s own black velvet spencer, crossed over one shoulder by a broad blue ribbon, which Henrietta knew full well.  “Do thou stand for my father,” began this droll little shape, “and examine me in the particulars of my life.”