Miss Heap got up too, stuffing her knitting as she did so into her brocaded bag.

“Go on ahead and ring the elevator bell, Albert,” said the old lady.  “It’s time we went and had our nap.”

“I ain’t going to,” said the old gentleman suddenly.

“What say?  What ain’t you going to, Albert?” said the old lady, turning her slow eyes round to him.

“Nap,” said the old gentleman, his face very red.

It was intolerable to have to go and nap.  He wished to stay where he was and talk to the twins.  Why should he have to nap because somebody else wanted to?  Why should he have to nap with an old lady, anyway?  Never in his life had he wanted to nap with old ladies.  It was all a dreadful mistake.

“Albert,” said his wife looking at him.

He went on ahead and rang the lift-bell.

“You’re quite right to see that he rests, Mrs. Ridding,” said Miss Heap, walking away with her and slowing her steps to suit hers.  “I should say it was essential that he should be kept quiet in the afternoons.  You should see that Mr. Ridding rests more than he does. Much more,” she added significantly.

“I can’t get Mr. Ridding to remember that we’re neither of us—­”

This was the last the twins heard.

They too had politely got out of their chairs when the old lady began to heave into activity, and they stood watching the three departing figures.  They were a little surprised.  Surely they had all been in the middle of an interesting conversation?

“Perhaps it’s American to go away in the middle,” remarked Anna-Rose, following the group with her eyes as it moved toward the lift.

“Perhaps it is,” said Anna-Felicitas, also gazing after it.

The old gentleman, in the brief moment during which the two ladies had their backs to him while preceding him into the lift, turned quickly round on his heels and waved his hand before he himself went in.

The twins laughed, and waved back; and they waved with such goodwill that the old gentleman couldn’t resist giving one more wave.  He was seen doing it by the two ladies as they faced round, and his wife, as she let herself down on to the edge of the seat, remarked that he mustn’t exert himself like that or he would have to begin taking his drops again.

That was all she said in the lift; but in their room, when she had got her breath again, she said, “Albert, there’s just one thing in the world I hate worse than a fool, and that’s an old fool.”

CHAPTER XXV

That evening, while the twins were undressing, a message came up from the office that the manager would be obliged if the Miss Twinklers’ canary wouldn’t sing.

“But it can’t help it,” said Anna-Felicitas through the crack of door she held open; she was already in her nightgown.  “You wouldn’t either if you were a canary,” she added, reasoning with the messenger.