Part 42 (1/2)

in medieval letters painted on it, all he said was, ”Guess we've run it to earth.”

Miss Heap sat with her hands in her lap, staring. Mrs. Ridding, her mind blocked by aspic, wasn't receiving impressions. She gazed with heavy eyes straight in front of her. There she saw cars. Many cars. All stopped at this particular spot. With a dull sensation of fathomless fatigue she dimly wondered at them.

”Looks as though it's a hostelry,” said Mr. Ridding, who remembered his d.i.c.kens; and he blinked up, craning his head out, at the signboard, on which through a gap in the branches of the pepper trees a shaft of brilliant late afternoon sun was striking. ”Don't see one, though.”

He jerked his thumb. ”Up back of the trees there, I reckon,” he said.

Then he prepared to open the door and go and have a look.

A hand shot out of Miss Heap's lap at him. ”Don't,” she said quickly.

”Don't, Mr. Ridding.”

There was a little green gate in the thick hedge that grew behind the pepper trees, and some people he knew, who had been in the car in front, were walking up to it. Some other people he knew had already got to it, and were standing talking together with what looked like leaflets in their hands. These leaflets came out of a green wooden box fastened on to one of the gate-posts, with the words _Won't you take one_? painted on it.

Mr. Ridding naturally wanted to go and take one, and here was Miss Heap laying hold of him and saying ”Don't.”

”Don't what?” he asked looking down at her, his hand on the door.

”h.e.l.lo Ridding,” called out one of the people he knew. ”No good getting out. Show doesn't open till to-morrow at four. Can't get in to-day.

Gate's bolted. Nothing doing.”

And then the man detached himself from the group at the gate and came over to the car with a leaflet in his hand.

”Say--” he said,--”how are you to-day, Miss Heap? Mrs. Ridding, your humble servant--say, look at this. Teapot Twist wasn't born yesterday when it comes to keeping things dark. No mention of his name on this book of words, but it's the house he was doing up all right, and it is to be used as an inn. Afternoon-tea inn. Profits to go to the American Red Cross. Price per head five dollars. Bit stiff, five dollars for tea.

Wonder where those Twinkler girls come in. Here--you have this, Ridding, and study it. I'll get another.” And taking off his hat a second time to the ladies he went back to his friends.

In great agitation Miss Heap turned to Mrs. Ridding, whose mind, galvanized by the magic words Twist and Twinkler, was slowly heaving itself free of aspic. ”Perhaps we had best go back to the hotel, Mrs Ridding,” said Miss Heap, her voice shaking. ”There's something I wish particularly to tell you. I ought to have done so this morning, directly I knew, but I had no idea of course that this....” She waved a hand at the signboard, and collapsed into speechlessness.

”Albert--hotel,” directed Mrs. Ridding.

And Mr. Ridding, clutching the leaflet, his face congested with suppressed emotions, obediently handed on the order through the speaking-tube to the chauffeur.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

”It's _perfect_,” said the twins, looking round the tea-room.

This was next day, at a quarter to four. They had been looking round saying it was perfect at intervals since the morning. Each time they finished getting another of the little tables ready, each time they brought in and set down another bowl of flowers they stood back and gazed a moment in silence, and then said with one voice, ”It's _perfect_.”

Mr. Twist, though the house was not, as we have seen, quite as sober, quite as restrained in its effect as he had intended, was obliged to admit that it did look very pretty. And so did the Annas. Especially the Annas. They looked so pretty in the sea-blue frocks and little Dutch caps and big muslin ap.r.o.ns that he took off his spectacles and cleaned them carefully so as to have a thoroughly uninterrupted view; and as they stood at a quarter to four gazing round the room, he stood gazing at them, and when they said ”It's _perfect_,” he said, indicating them with his thumb, ”Same here,” and then they all laughed for they were all very happy, and Mrs. Bilton, arrayed exactly as Mr. Twist had pictured her when he engaged her in handsome black, her white hair beautifully brushed and neat, crossed over to the Annas and gave each of them a hearty kiss--for luck, she said--which Mr. Twist watched with an odd feeling of jealousy.

”I'd like to do that,” he thought, filled with a sudden desire to hug.

Then he said it out loud. ”I'd like to do that,” he said boldly. And added, ”As it's the opening day.”

”I don't think it would afford you any permanent satisfaction,” said Anna-Felicitas placidly. ”There's nothing really to be gained, we think, by kissing. Of course,” she added politely to Mrs. Bilton, ”we like it very much as an expression of esteem.”

”Then why not in that spirit--” began Mr. Twist.

”We don't hold with kissing,” said Anna-Rose quickly, turning very red.