On the last afternoon before Mrs. Bilton’s advent the twins, tired of standing about for days at the cottage and in shops, appeared in the hall of the hotel and sat down to rest.  They didn’t go to their room to rest because they didn’t feel inclined for the canary, and they sat down very happily in the comfortable rocking-chairs with which the big hall abounded, and, propping their dusty feet on the lower bar of a small table, with friendly and interested eyes they observed the other guests.

The other guests also observed them.

It was the first time the entourage had appeared without its companion, and the other guests were dying to know details about it.  It hadn’t been sitting in the hall five minutes before a genial old gentleman caught Anna-Felicitas’s friendly eye and instantly drew up his chair.

“Uncle gone off by himself to-day?” he asked; for he was of the party in the hotel which inclined, in spite of the marked difference in profiles, to the relationship theory, and he made a shot at the relationship being that of uncle.

“We haven’t got an uncle nearer than England,” said Anna-Felicitas affably.

“And we only got him by accident,” said Anna-Rose, equally affably.

“It was an unfortunate accident,” said Anna-Felicitas, considering her memories.

“Indeed,” said the old gentleman.  “Indeed.  How was that?”

“By the usual method, if an uncle isn’t a blood uncle,” said Anna-Rose.  “We happened to have a marriageable aunt, and he married her.  So we have to have him.”

“It was sheer bad luck,” said Anna-Felicitas, again brooding on that distant image.

“Yes,” said Anna-Rose.  “Just bad luck.  He might so easily have married some one else’s aunt.  But no.  His roving glance must needs go and fall on ours.”

“Indeed,” said the old gentleman.  “Indeed.”  And he ruminated on this, with an affectionate eye—­he was affectionate—­resting in turn on each Anna.

“Then Mr. Twist,” he went on presently—­“we all know him of course—­a public benefactor—­”

“Yes, isn’t he,” said Anna-Rose radiantly.

“A boon to the breakfast-table—­”

“Yes, isn’t he,” said Anna-Rose again, all asparkle.  “He is so pleasant at breakfast.”

“Then he—­Mr. Twist—­Teapot Twist we call him where I live—­”

“Teapot Twist?” said Anna-Rose.  “I think that’s irreverent.”

“Not at all.  It’s a pet name.  A sign of our affection and gratitude.  Then he isn’t your uncle?”

“We haven’t got a real uncle nearer than heaven,” said Anna-Felicitas, her cheek on her hand, dreamily reconstructing the image of Onkel Col.

“Indeed,” said the old gentleman.  “Indeed.”  And he ruminated, on this too, his thirsty heart—­he had a thirsty heart, and found difficulty in slaking it because of his wife—­very indulgent toward the twins.

Then he said:  “That’s a long way off.”