But whether Anna-Rose saw seemed very doubtful.  There was only that feeling, as to which he was no doubt mistaken, of nestling to go on.  Her eyes, anyhow, remained shut, and her body continued to heave with sobs.

He bent his head lower.  His voice shook.  “It’s so, so simple,” he whispered.  “All you’ve got to do is to marry me.”

And as she made an odd little movement in his arms he held her tighter and began to talk very fast.

“No, no,” he said, “don’t answer anything yet.  Just listen.  Just let me tell you first.  I want to tell you to start with how terribly I love you.  But that doesn’t mean you’ve got to love me—­you needn’t if you don’t want to—­if you can’t—­if you’d rather not I’m eighteen years older than you, and I know what I’m like to look at—­no, don’t say anything yet—­just listen quiet first—­but if you married me you’d be an American right away, don’t you see?  Just as Anna-Felicitas is going to be English.  And I always intended going back to England as soon as may be, and if you married me what is to prevent your coming too?  Coming to England?  With Anna-Felicitas and her husband.  Anna-Rose—­little Blessed—­think of it—­all of us together.  There won’t be any aliens in that quartette, I guess, and the day you marry me you’ll be done with being German for good and all.  And don’t you get supposing it matters about your not loving me, because, you see, I love you so much, I adore you so terribly, that anyhow there’ll be more than enough love to go round, and you needn’t ever worry about contributing any if you don’t feel like it—­”

Mr. Twist broke off abruptly.  “What say?” he said, for Anna-Rose was making definite efforts to speak.  She was also making definite and unmistakable movements, and this time there could be no doubt about it; she was coming closer.

“What say?” said Mr. Twist breathlessly, bending his head.

“But I do,” whispered Anna-Rose.

“Do what?” said Mr. Twist, again breathlessly.

She turned her face up to his.  On it was the same look he had lately seen on Anna-Felicitas’s, shining through in spite of the disfiguration of her tears.

“But—­of course I do,” whispered Anna-Rose, an extraordinary smile, an awe-struck sort of smile, coming into her face at the greatness of her happiness, at the wonder of it.

“What?  Do what?” said Mr. Twist, still more breathlessly.

“I—­always did,” whispered Anna-Rose.

“What did you always did?” gasped Mr. Twist, hardly able to believe it, and yet—­and yet—­there on her little face, on her little transfigured face, shone the same look.

“Oh—­love you,” sighed Anna-Rose, nestling as close as she could get.

* * * * *

It was Mr. Twist himself who got on a ladder at five minutes past four that afternoon and pasted a strip of white paper obliquely across the sign of The Open Arms with the word.