For the next few minutes she hurried hither and thither, and waited single-handed.  She seemed to be swallowed up in activity.  No wonder that child had looked so hot and bewildered.  Mr. Twist didn’t come and help, as he had promised, and nowhere was there any sign of Anna-Felicitas; and the guests not only wanted things to eat, they wanted to talk,—­talk and ask questions.  Well, she would wait on them, but she wouldn’t talk.  She turned a dry, parchment-like face to their conversational blandishments, and responded only by adding up their bills.  Wonderful are the workings of patriotism.  For the first time in her life, Mrs. Bilton was grumbled at for not talking.

CHAPTER XXXIII

In the office Anna-Rose found Mr. Twist walking up and down.

“See here,” he said, turning on her when she came in, “I’m about tired of looking on at all this twittering round that lot in there.  You’re through with that for to-day, and maybe for to-morrow and the day after as well.”

He waved his arm at the deep chair that had been provided for his business meditations.  “You’ll sit down in that chair now,” he said severely, “and stay put.”

Anna-Rose looked at him with a quivering lip.  She went rather unsteadily to the chair and tumbled into it.  “I don’t know if you’re angry or being kind,” she said tremulously, “but whichever it is I—­I wish you wouldn’t.  I—­I wish you’d manage to be something that isn’t either.”  And, as she had feared, she began to cry.

“Anna-Rose,” said Mr. Twist, staring down at her in concern mixed with irritation—­out there all those Germans, in here the weeping child; what a day he was having—­“for heaven’s sake don’t do that.”

“I know,” sobbed Anna-Rose.  “I don’t want to.  It’s awful being so natu—­natu—­naturally liquid.”

“But what’s the matter?” asked Mr. Twist helplessly.

“Nothing,” sobbed Anna-Rose.

He stood over her in silence for a minute, his hands in his pockets.  If he took them out he was afraid he might start stroking her, and she seemed to him to be exactly between the ages when such a form of comfort would be legitimate.  If she were younger ... but she was a great girl now; if she were older ... ah, if she were older, Mr. Twist could imagine....

“You’re overtired,” he said aloofly.  “That’s what you are.”

“No,” sobbed Anna-Rose.

“And the Germans have been too much for you.”

“They haven’t,” sobbed Anna-Rose, her pride up at the suggestion that anybody could ever be that.

“But they’re not going to get the chance again,” said Mr. Twist, setting his teeth as much as they would set, which wasn’t, owing to his natural kindliness, anything particular.  “Mrs. Bilton and me—­” Then he remembered Anna-Felicitas.  “Why doesn’t she come?” he asked.

“Who?” choked Anna-Rose.

“The other one.  Anna II.  Columbus.”