She stared round her in silence.  Her sudden quiet fell on the twins with a great sense of refreshment.  Standing in the doorway—­for Mrs. Bilton and the electrical expert between them filled up most of the kitchen—­they heaved a deep sigh.  “And see how beautiful the stars are,” whispered Anna-Felicitas in Anna-Rose’s ear; she hadn’t been able to see them before somehow, Mrs. Bilton’s voice had so much ruffled the night.

“Do you think she talks in her sleep?” Anna-Rose anxiously whispered back.

But Mr. Twist, arriving with his hands full, was staggered to find Mrs. Bilton not talking.  An icy fear seized his heart.  She was going to refuse to stay with them.  And she would be within her rights if she did, for certainly what she called her itinerary had promised her a first-rate hotel, in which she was to continue till a finished and comfortable house was stepped into.

“I wish you’d say something,” he said, plumping down the bags he was carrying on the kitchen floor.

The twins from the doorway looked at him and then at each other in great surprise.  Fancy asking Mrs. Bilton to say something.

“They would come,” said Mr. Twist, resentfully, jerking his head toward the Annas in the doorway.

“It’s worse upstairs,” he went on desperately as Mrs. Bilton still was dumb.

“Worse upstairs?” cried the twins, as one woman.

“It’s perfect upstairs,” said Anna-Felicitas.

“It’s like camping out without being out,” said Anna-Rose.

“The only drawback is that there are rather a lot of beds in our room,” said Anna-Felicitas, “but that of course”—­she turned to Mr. Twist—­“might easily be arranged—­”

“I wish you’d say something, Mrs. Bilton,” he interrupted quickly and loud.

Mrs. Bilton drew a deep breath and looked round her.  She looked round the room, and she looked up at the ceiling, which the upright feather in her hat was tickling, and she looked at the faces of the twins, lit flickeringly by the uncertain light of the lanterns.  Then, woman of grit, wife who had never failed him of Bruce D. Bilton, widow who had remained poised and indomitable on a small income in a circle of well-off friends, she spoke; and she said: 

“Mr. Twist, I can’t say what this means, and you’ll furnish me no doubt with information, but whatever it is I’m not the woman to put my hand to a plough and then turn back again.  That type of behaviour may have been good enough for Pharisees and Sadducees, who if I remember rightly had to be specially warned against the practice, but it isn’t good enough for me.  You’ve conducted me to a shack instead of the hotel I was promised, and I await your explanation.  Meanwhile, is there any supper?”

CHAPTER XXVII