There they stood then, anxiously watching the approaching figure, and the letter in Mrs. Bilton’s hand bobbed up and down as she walked, white and conspicuous in the sun against her black dress.  What was their amazement to see as she drew nearer that she was looking just as pleasant as ever.  They stared at her with mouths falling open.  Was it possible, thought the twins, that she was longing to leave but hadn’t liked to say so, and the letter had come as a release?  Was it possible, thought Mr. Twist with a leap of hope in his heart, that she was taking the letter from a non-serious point of view?

And Mr. Twist, to his infinite relief, was right.  For Mrs. Bilton, woman of grit and tenacity, was not in the habit of allowing herself to be dislodged or even discouraged.  This was the opening sentence of her remarks when she had arrived, smiling, in their midst.  Had she not explained the first night that she was one who, having put her hand to the plough, held on to it however lively the movements of the plough might be?  She would not conceal from them, she said, that even Mr. Bilton had not, especially, at first, been entirely without such movements.  He had settled down, however on finding he could trust her to know better than he did what he wanted.  Don’t wise wives always? she inquired.  And the result had been that no man ever had a more devoted wife while he was alive, or a more devoted widow after he wasn’t.  She had told him one day, when he was drawing near the latter condition and she was conversing with him, as was only right, on the subject of wills, and he said that his affairs had gone wrong and as far as he could see she would be left a widow and that was about all she would be left—­she had told him that if it was any comfort to him to know it, he might rely on it that he would have the most devoted widow any man had ever had, and he said—­Mr. Bilton had odd fancies, especially toward the end—­that a widow was the one thing a man never could have because he wasn’t there by the time he had got her.  Yes, Mr. Bilton had odd fancies.  And if she had managed, as she did manage, to steer successfully among them, he being a man of ripe parts and character, was it likely that encountering odd fancies in two very young and unformed girls—­oh, it wasn’t their fault that they were unformed, it was merely because they hadn’t had time enough yet—­she would be unable, experienced as she was, to steer among them too?  Besides, she had a heart for orphans; orphans and dumb animals always had had a special appeal for her.  “No, no, Mr. Twist,” Mrs. Bilton wound up, putting a hand affectionately on Anna-Rose’s shoulder as a more convenient one than Anna-Felicitas’s, “my young charges aren’t going to be left in the lurch, you may rely on that.  I don’t undertake a duty without carrying it out.  Why, I feel a lasting affection for them already.  We’ve made real progress these few days in intimacy.  And I just love to sit and listen to all their fresh young chatter.”