And so it was that about five o’clock that afternoon, having spent the whole day exploring the charming environs of Acapulco,—­having been seen at different periods going over the Old Mission in tow of a monk who wouldn’t look at them but kept his eyes carefully fixed on the ground, sitting on high stools eating strange and enchanting ices at the shop in the town that has the best ices, bathing deliciously in the warm sea at the foot of a cliff along the top of which a great hedge of rose-coloured geraniums flared against the sky, lunching under a grove of ilexes on the contents of a basket produced by Mr. Twist from somewhere in the car he had hired, wandering afterwards up through eucalyptus woods across the fields towards the foot of the mountains,—­they came about five o’clock, thirsty and thinking of tea, to a delightful group of flowery cottages clustering round a restaurant and forming collectively, as Mr. Twist explained, one of the many American forms of hotel.  “To which,” he said, “people not living in the cottages can come and have meals at the restaurant, so we’ll go right in and have tea.”

And it was just because they couldn’t get tea—­any other meal, the proprietress said, but no teas were served, owing to the Domestic Help Eight Hours Bill which obliged her to do without domestics during the afternoon hours—­that Anna-Felicitas came by her great idea.

CHAPTER XXI

But she didn’t come by it at once.

They got into the car first, which was waiting for them in the scented road at the bottom of the field they had walked across, and they got into it in silence and were driven back to their hotel for tea, and her brain was still unvisited by inspiration.

They were all tired and thirsty, and were disappointed at being thwarted in their desire to sit at a little green table under whispering trees and rest, and drink tea, and had no sort of wish to have it at the Cosmopolitan.  But both Mr. Twist, who had been corrupted by Europe, and the twins, who had the habits of their mother, couldn’t imagine doing without it in the afternoon, and they would have it in the hotel sooner than not have it at all.  It was brought to them after a long time of waiting.  Nobody else was having any at that hour, and the waiter, when at last one was found, had difficulty apparently in believing that they were serious.  When at last he did bring it, it was toast and marmalade and table-napkins, for all the world as though it had been breakfast.

Then it was that, contemplating this with discomfort and distaste, as well as the place they were sitting in and its rocking-chairs and marble and rugs, Anna-Felicitas was suddenly smitten by her idea.

It fell upon her like a blow.  It struck her fairly, as it were, between the eyes.  She wasn’t used to ideas, and she stopped dead in the middle of a piece of toast and looked at the others.  They stopped too in their eating and looked at her.