“Like us,” said Anna-Felicitas.

The young man looked at her with what would have been a greater interest than ever if a greater interest had been possible, only it wasn’t.

“What, are you an Elliott too?” he asked eagerly.

Anna-Felicitas shook her head.  “On the contrary,” she said, “I’m a Twinkler.  And so is my sister.  What I meant was, you’re like us about coming from England.  We’ve done that.  Only our leave is for ever and ever.  Or the duration of the war.”

Mr. Twist waved her aside.  “Anna-Felicitas,” he said, “your sister is waiting for you in the office and wants you badly.  I’ll see to Mr. Elliott.”

“Why not bring your sister here?” said the young man, who, being in the navy, was fertile in resourcefulness.  And he smiled at Anna-Felicitas, who smiled back; indeed, they did nothing but smile at each other.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” she said; and turned to Mr. Twist.  “You go,” she said gently, thereby proving herself, the young man considered, at least his equal in resourcefulness.  “It’s much more likely,” she continued, as Mr. Twist gazed at her without moving, “that she’ll come for you than for me.  My sister,” she explained to the young man, “is older than I am.”

“Then certainly I should say Mr. Twist is more likely—­”

“But only about twenty minutes older.”

“What?  A twin?  I say, how extraordinarily jolly.  Two of you?”

“Anna-Felicitas,” interrupted Mr. Twist, “you will go to your sister immediately.  She needs you.  She’s upset.  I don’t wish to draw Mr. Elliott behind the scenes of family life, but as nothing seems to get you into the office you force me to tell you that she is very, much upset indeed, and is crying.”

“Crying?” echoed Anna-Felicitas.  “Christopher?” And she turned and departed in such haste that the young man, who luckily was alert as well as resourceful, had only just time to lean over and grab at a chair in her way and pull it aside, and so avert a deplorable catastrophe.

“I hope it’s nothing serious?” he inquired of Mr. Twist.

“Oh no.  Children will cry.”

“Children?”

Mr. Twist sat down at the table and lit a cigarette.  “Tell me about England,” he said.  “You’ve been wounded, I see.”

“Leg,” said the young man, still standing leaning on his stick and looking after Anna-Felicitas.

“But that didn’t get you six months’ leave.”

“Lungs,” said the young man, looking down impatiently at Mr. Twist.

Then the swing doors swung to, and he sat down and poured out his tea.

He had been in the battle of Jutland, and was rescued after hours in the water.  For months he was struggling to recover, but finally tuberculosis had developed and he was sent to California, to his sister who had married an American and lived in the neighbourhood of Acapulco.  This Mr. Twist extracted out of him by diligent questioning.  He had to question very diligently.  What the young man wanted to talk about was Anna-Felicitas; but every time he tried to, Mr. Twist headed him off.