The preserved peaches were eaten at last, and the stale cake left.

(Billy had forgotten the coffee--which was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the drawing-room.
At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete came home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen and dining-room had become.

At ten, Calderwell, with very evident reluctance, tore himself away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good night.

At two minutes past ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was trying to cry on the shoulders of both Uncle William and Bertram at once.
"There, there, child, don't! It went off all right," patted Uncle William.
"Billy, darling," pleaded Bertram, "please don't cry so! As if I'd ever let you step foot in that kitchen again!" At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant determination.
"As if I'd ever let you keep me _from_ it, Bertram Henshaw, after this!" she contested.

"I'm not going to do another thing in all my life but _cook!_ When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the time I took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of such a thing as this ever happening again ?".