Part 11 (2/2)

”Let's go and put on our hats and get ready,” she said, after a moment's pause during which she wondered whether, in the interests of Anna-Rose's restoration to calm, she mightn't have to be sick again. She did hope she wouldn't have to. She had supposed she had done with that. It is true there were now no waves, but she knew she had only to go near the engines and smell the oil. ”Let's go and put on our hats,” she suggested, slipping her hand through Anna-Rose's arm.

Anna-Rose let herself be led away, and they went to their cabin; and when they came out of it half an hour later, no longer with that bald look their caps had given them, the sun catching the little rings of pale gold hair that showed for the first time, and clad, instead of in the disreputable jerseys that they loved, in neat black coats and skirts--for they still wore mourning when properly dressed--with everything exactly as Aunt Alice had directed for their arrival, the young men of the second cla.s.s could hardly believe their eyes.

”You'll excuse me saying so,” said one of them to Anna-Felicitas as she pa.s.sed him, ”but you're looking very well to-day.”

”I expect that's because I _am_ well,” said Anna-Felicitas amiably.

Mr. Twist, when he saw them, threw up his hands and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed ”My!”

”Yes,” said Anna-Felicitas, who was herself puzzled by the difference the clothes had made in Anna-Rose after ten solid days of cap and jersey, ”I think it's our hats. They do somehow seem very splendid.”

”Splendid?” echoed Mr. Twist. ”Why, they'd make the very angels jealous, and get pulling off their haloes and kicking them over the edge of heaven.”

”What is so wonderful is that Aunt Alice should ever have squeezed them out of Uncle Arthur,” said Anna-Rose, gazing lost in admiration at Anna-Felicitas. ”He didn't disgorge nice hats easily at all.”

And one of the German ladies muttered to the other, as her eye fell on Anna-Felicitas, ”_Ja, ja, die hat Ra.s.se._”

And it was only because it was the other German lady's hair that spent the night in a different part of the cabin from her head and had been seen doing it by Anna-Felicitas, that she cavilled and was grudging.

”_Gewiss_,” she muttered back, ”_bis auf der Nase. Die Nase aber entfremdet mich. Die ist keine echte Junkernase_.”

So that the Twinklers had quite a success, and their hearts came a little way out of their boots; only a little way, though, for there were the Clouston K. Sacks looming bigger into their lives every minute now.

Really it was a beautiful day, and, as Aunt Alice used to say, that does make such a difference. A clear pale loveliness of light lay over New York, and there was a funny sprightliness in the air, a delicate dry crispness. The trees on the sh.o.r.e, when they got close, were delicate too--delicate pale gold, and green, and brown, and they seemed so composed and calm, the twins thought, standing there quietly after the upheavals and fidgetiness of the Atlantic. New York was well into the Fall, the time of year when it gets nearest to beauty. The beauty was entirely in the atmosphere, and the lights and shadows it made. It was like an exquisite veil flung over an ugly woman, hiding, softening, encouraging hopes.

Everybody on the s.h.i.+p was crowding eagerly to the sides. Everybody was exhilarated, and excited, and ready to be friendly and talkative. They all waved whenever another boat pa.s.sed. Those who knew America pointed out the landmarks to those who didn't. Mr. Twist pointed them out to the twins, and so did the young man who had remarked favourably on Anna-Felicitas's looks, and as they did it simultaneously and there was so much to look at and so many boats to wave to, it wasn't till they had actually got to the statue of Liberty that Anna-Rose remembered her 10 and the dollars.

The young man was saying how much the statue of Liberty had cost, and the word dollars made Anna-Rose turn with a jump to Mr. Twist.

”Oh,” she exclaimed, clutching at her chamois leather bag where it very visibly bulged out beneath her waistband, ”I forgot--I must get change.

And how much do you think we ought to tip the stewardess? I've never tipped anybody yet ever, and I wish--I wish I hadn't to.”

She got quite red. It seemed to her dreadful to offer money to someone so much older than herself and who till almost that very morning had treated her and Anna-Felicitas like the naughtiest of tiresome children.

Surely she would be most offended at being tipped by people such years younger than herself?

Mr. Twist thought not.

”A dollar,” said the young man. ”One dollar. That's the figure. Not a cent more, or you girls'll get inflating prices and Wall Street'll bust up.”

Anna-Rose, not heeding him and clutching nervously the place where her bag was, told Mr. Twist that the stewardess hadn't seemed to mind them quite so much last night, and still less that morning, and perhaps some little memento--something that wasn't money--

”Give her those caps of yours,” said the young man, bursting into hilarity; but indeed it wasn't his fault that he was a low young man.

Mr. Twist, shutting him out of the conversation by interposing a shoulder, told Anna-Rose he had noticed stewardesses, and also stewards, softened when journeys drew near their end, but that it didn't mean they wanted mementos. They wanted money; and he would do the tipping for her if she liked.

Anna-Rose jumped at it. This tipping of the stewardess had haunted her at intervals throughout the journey whenever she woke up at night. She felt that, not having yet in her life tipped anybody, it was very hard that she couldn't begin with somebody more her own size.

”Then if you don't mind coming behind the funnel,” she said, ”I can give you my 5 notes, and perhaps you would get them changed for me and deduct what you think the stewardess ought to have.”

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