Aunt Alice always said, “Isn’t that very unusual?” when she didn’t know what else to say, and it worked beautifully, because then the other person launched into affirmations or denials with the reasons for them, and was quite happy.

But Mrs. Ridding only stared at the twins heavily and in silence.

“Because,” explained Anna-Rose, who thought the old lady didn’t quite follow, “nobody ever is.  So that it must be difficult not to remember it.”

Mr. Ridding too was silent, but that was because of his wife.  It was quite untrue to say that he forgot, seeing that she was constantly reminding him.  “Old stranger,” he thought resentfully, as he carefully arranged a cushion behind her back.  He didn’t like her back.  Why should he have to pay bills for putting expensive clothes on it?  He didn’t want to.  It was all a dreadful mistake.

“You’re the Twinkler girls,” said the old lady abruptly.

They made polite gestures of agreement.

The knitting lady knitted vigorously, sitting up very straight and saying nothing, with a look on her face of disclaiming every responsibility.

“Where does your family come from?” was the next question.

This was unexpected.  The twins had no desire to talk of Pomerania.  They hadn’t wanted to talk about Pomerania once since the war began; and they felt very distinctly in their bones that America, though she was a neutral, didn’t like Germany any more than the belligerents did.  It had been their intention to arrange together the line they would take if asked questions of this sort, but life had been so full and so exciting since their arrival that they had forgotten to.

Anna-Rose found herself unable to say anything at all.  Anna-Felicitas, therefore, observing that Christopher was unnerved, plunged in.

“Our family,” she said gently, “can hardly be said to come so much as to have been.”

The old lady thought this over, her lustreless eyes on Anna-Felicitas’s face.

The knitting lady clicked away very fast, content to leave the management of the Twinklers in more competent hands.

“How’s that?” asked the old lady, finally deciding that she hadn’t understood.

“It’s extinct,” said Anna-Felicitas.  “Except us.  That is, in the direct line.”

The old lady was a little impressed by this, direct lines not being so numerous or so clear in America as in some other countries.

“You mean you two are the only Twinklers left?” she asked.

“The only ones left that matter,” said Anna-Felicitas.  “There are branches of Twinklers still existing, I believe, but they’re so unimportant that we don’t know them.”

“Mere twigs,” said Anna-Rose, recovering her nerves on seeing Anna-Felicitas handle the situation so skilfully; and her nose unconsciously gave a slight Junker lift.

“Haven’t you got any parents?” asked the old lady.