Thus the first evening, that was to have been so happy, was spent by everybody in silence and apart.  Li Koo felt the atmosphere of oppression even in his kitchen, and refrained from song.  He put away, after dealing with it cunningly so that it should keep until a more propitious hour, a wonderful drink he had prepared for supper in celebration of the opening day—­“Me make li’l celebrity,” he had said, squeezing together strange essences and fruits—­and he moved softly about so as not to disturb the meditations of the master.  Li Koo was perfectly aware of what had gone wrong:  it was the unexpected arrival to tea of Germans.  Being a member of the least blood-thirsty of the nations, he viewed Germans with peculiar disfavour and understood his master’s prolonged walking up and down.  Also he had noted through a crack in the door the way these people of blood and death crowded round the white-lily girls; and was not that sufficient in itself to cause his master’s numerous and rapid steps?

Numerous indeed that evening were Mr. Twist’s steps.  He felt he must think, and he could think better walking up and down.  Why had all those Germans come?  Why, except old Ridding and the experts, had none of the Americans come?  It was very strange.  And what Germans!  So cordial, so exuberant to the twins, so openly gathering them to their bosoms, as though they belonged there.  And so cordial too to him, approaching him in spite of his withdrawals, conveying to him somehow, his disagreeable impression had been, that he and they perfectly understood each other.  Then Mrs. Bilton; was she going to give trouble?  It looked like it.  It looked amazingly like it.  Was she after all just another edition of his mother, and unable to discriminate between Germans and Germans, between the real thing and mere technicalities like the Twinklers?  It is true he hadn’t told her the twins were German, but then neither had he told her they weren’t.  He had been passive.  In Mrs. Bilton’s presence passivity came instinctively.  Anything else involved such extreme and unusual exertion.  He had never had the least objection to her discovering their nationality for herself, and indeed had been surprised she hadn’t done so long ago, for he felt sure she would quickly begin to love the Annas, and once she loved them she wouldn’t mind what their father had happened to be.  He had supposed she did love them.  How affectionately she had kissed them that very afternoon and wished them luck.  Was all that nothing?  Was lovableness nothing, and complete innocence, after all in the matter of being born, when weighed against the one fact of the von?  What he would do if Mrs. Bilton left him he couldn’t imagine.  What would happen to The Open Arms and the twins in such a case, his worried brain simply couldn’t conceive.

Out of the corner of his eye every time he passed the open door on to the verandah he could see the two Annas standing motionless on its edge, their up-turned faces, as they gazed at the stars, white in the moonlight and very serious.  Pathetic children.  Pathetic, solitary, alien children.  What were they thinking of?  He wouldn’t mind betting it was their mother.