kept on the cool level of strict business.  Every trace of the affection with which he was so overflowing would be sternly excluded.  For instance, he wasn’t going to let himself remember the feel of Christopher’s little head the afternoon before when he patted it to comfort her.  Such remembrances would be bound to bring a warmth into his remarks which wouldn’t be fair.  The situation demanded the most scrupulous fairness and delicacy in its treatment, the most careful avoidance of taking any advantage of it.  But how difficult, thought Mr. Twist, his hand shaking as he poured himself out a glass of iced water, how difficult when he loved the Annas so inconveniently much.

Mrs. Bilton observed the shaking of his hand, and felt more female than ever.

Still, there it was, this situation forced upon them all by the war.  Nobody could help it, and it had to be faced with calmness, steadfastness and tact.  Calmness, steadfastness and tact, repeated Mr. Twist, raising the water to his mouth and spilling some of it.

Mrs. Bilton observed this too, and felt still more female.

Marriage was the quickest, and really the only, way out of it.  He saw that now.  The lawyer had been quite right.  And marriage, he would explain to the Annas, would be a mere formal ceremony which after the war they—­he meant, of course, she—­could easily in that land of facile and honourable divorce get rid of.  Meanwhile, he would point out, they—­she, of course; bother these twins—­would be safely American, and he would undertake never to intrude love on them—­her—­unless by some wonderful chance, it was wanted.  Some wonderful chance ...  Mr. Twist’s spectacles suddenly went dim, and he gulped down more water.

Yes.  That was the line to take:  the austere line of self-mortification for the Twinkler good.  One Twinkler would be his wife—­again at the dear word he had to gulp down water—­and one his sister-in-law.  They would just have to agree to this plan.  The position was too serious for shilly-shallying.  Yes.  That was the line to take; and by the time he had got to the coffee it was perfectly clear and plain to him.

But he felt dreadfully damp.  He longed for a liqueur, for anything that would support him....

“Is there any brandy in the house?” he suddenly flung across the web of Mrs. Bilton’s words.

“Brandy, Mr. Twist?” she repeated, at this feeling altogether female, for what an unusual thing for him to ask for,—­“You’re not sick?”

“With my coffee,” murmured Mr. Twist, his mouth very slack, his head drooping.  “It’s nice....”

“I’ll go and see,” said Mrs. Bilton, getting up briskly and going away rattling a bunch of keys.

At once he looked down the garden.  Anna-Felicitas was in the act of putting her arm round Anna-Rose’s shoulder, and Anna-Rose was passionately disengaging herself.  Yes.  There was trouble there.  He knew there would be.