The moment Mr. Twist saw Mrs. Bilton’s beautiful white hair he knew she was the one.  That hair was what The Open Arms wanted and must have; that hair, with a well-made black dress to go with it, would be a shield through which no breath of misunderstanding as to the singleness of purpose with which the inn was run would ever penetrate.  He would have settled it with her in five minutes if she could have been got to listen, but Mrs. Bilton couldn’t be got to listen; and when it became clear that no amount of patient waiting would bring him any nearer the end of what she had to say Mr. Twist was forced to take off his coat, as it were, and plunge abruptly into the very middle of her flow of words and convey to her as quickly as possible, as one swimming for his life against the stream, that she was engaged.  “Engaged, Mrs. Bilton,”—­he called out, raising his voice above the sound of Mrs. Bilton’s rushing words, “engaged.”  She would be expected at the Cosmopolitan, swiftly continued Mr. Twist, who was as particularly anxious to have her at the Cosmopolitan as the twins were particularly anxious not to,—­for for the life of them they couldn’t see why Mrs. Bilton should be stirred up before they started inhabiting the cottage,—­within three days—­

“Mr. Twist, it can’t be done,” broke in Mrs. Bilton a fresh and mountainous wave of speech gathering above Mr. Twist’s head.  “It absolutely—­”

“Within a week, then,” he called out quickly, holding up the breaking of the wave for an instant while he hastened to and opened the door.  “And goodmorning Mrs. Bilton—­my apologies, my sincere apologies, but we have to hurry away—­”

The cook was engaged that afternoon.  Mr. Twist appeared to have mixed up the answers to his advertisement, for when, after paying the luncheon-bill, he went to join the twins in the sitting-room, he found them waiting for him in the passage outside the door looking excited.

“The cook’s come,” whispered Anna-Rose, jerking her head towards the shut door.  “She’s a man.”

“She’s a Chinaman,” whispered Anna-Felicitas.

Mr. Twist was surprised.  He thought he had an appointment with a woman,—­a coloured lady from South Carolina who was a specialist in pastries and had immaculate references, but the Chinaman assured him that he hadn’t, and that his appointment was with him alone, with him, Li Koo.  In proof of it, he said, spreading out his hands, here he was.  “We make cakies—­li’l cakies—­many, lovely li’l cakies,” said Li Koo, observing doubt on the gentleman’s face; and from somewhere on his person he whipped out a paper bag of them as a conjurer whips a rabbit out of a hat, and offered them to the twins.

They ate.  He was engaged.  It took five minutes.

After he had gone, and punctually to the minute of her appointment, an over-flowing Negress appeared and announced that she was the coloured lady from South Carolina to whom the gentleman had written.