Mr. Twist, however, was so obstinate in his reserve that the lawyer cheerfully and unhesitatingly jumped to the conclusion that the entourage must have some very weak spots about it somewhere.

“There’s another way out of it of course, Mr. Twist,” he said, when he had done rapidly describing the different steps to be taken.  There were not many steps.  The process of turning oneself into a guardian was surprisingly simple and swift.

“Out of it?” said Mr. Twist, his spectacles looking very big and astonished.  “Out of what?”

“Out of your little difficulty.  I wonder it hasn’t occurred to you.  Upon my word now, I do wonder.”

“But I’m not in any little diff—­” began Mr. Twist.

“The elder of these two girls, now—­”

“There isn’t an elder,” said Mr. Twist.

“Come, come,” said the lawyer patiently, waiting for him to be sensible.

“There isn’t an elder,” repeated Mr. Twist, “They’re twins.”

“Twins, are they?  Well I must say we manage to match up our twins better than that over here.  But come now—­hasn’t it occurred to you you might marry one of them, and so become quite naturally related to them both?”

Mr. Twist’s spectacles seemed to grow gigantic.

“Marry one of them?” he repeated, his mouth helplessly opening.

“Yep,” said the lawyer, giving him a lead in free-and-easiness.

“Look here,” said Mr. Twist suddenly gathering his mouth together, “cut that line of joke out.  I’m here on serious business.  I haven’t come to be facetious.  Least of all about those children—­”

“Quite so, quite so,” interrupted the lawyer pleasantly.  “Children, you call them.  How old are they?  Seventeen?  My wife was sixteen when we married.  Oh quite so, quite so.  Certainly.  By all means.  Well then, they’re to be your wards.  And you don’t want it known how recently they’ve become your wards—­”

“I didn’t say that,” said Mr. Twist.

“Quite so, quite so.  But it’s your wish, isn’t it.  The relationship is to look as grass-grown as possible.  Well, I shall be dumb of course, but most things get into the press here.  Let me see—­” He pulled a sheet of paper towards him and took up his fountain pen.  “Just oblige me with particulars.  Date of birth.  Place of birth.  Parentage—­”

He looked up ready to write, waiting for the answers.

None came.

“I can’t tell you off hand,” said Mr. Twist presently, his forehead puckered.

“Ah,” said the lawyer, laying down his pen.  “Quite so.  Not known your young friends long enough yet.”

“I’ve known them quite long enough,” said Mr. Twist stiffly, “but we happen to have found more alive topics of conversation than dates and parents.”

“Ah.  Parents not alive.”

“Unfortunately they are not.  If they were, these poor children wouldn’t be knocking about in a strange country.”