She knew, however, that she only had to sit up in order to be sick, and the excellent child—­das gute Kind, as her father used to call her because she, so conveniently from the parental point of view, invariably never wanted to be or do anything particularly—­without hesitation sacrificed herself in order to save her sister’s honour, and sat up and immediately was.

By the time Anna-Rose had done attending to her, all fury had died out.  She never could see Anna Felicitas lying back pale and exhausted after one of these attacks without forgiving her and everybody else everything.

She climbed up on the wooden steps to smoothe her pillow and tuck her blanket round her, and when Anna-Felicitas, her eyes shut, murmured, “Christopher—­don’t mind them—­” and she suddenly realized, for they never called each other by those names except in great moments of emotion when it was necessary to cheer and encourage, what Anna-Felicitas had saved her from, and that it had been done deliberately, she could only whisper back, because she was so afraid of crying, “No, no, Columbus dear—­of course—­who really cares about them—­” and came down off the steps with no fight left in her.

Also the wrath of the ladies was considerably assuaged.  They had retreated behind their curtains until the so terribly unsettled Twinkler should be quiet again, and when once more they drew them a crack apart in order to keep an eye on what the other one might be going to do next and saw her doing nothing except, with meekness, getting dressed, they merely inquired what part of Westphalia she came from, and only in the tone they asked it did they convey that whatever part it was, it was anyhow a contemptible one.

“We don’t come from Westphalia,” said Anna-Rose, bristling a little, in spite of herself, at their persistent baiting.

Anna-Felicitas listened in cold anxiousness.  She didn’t want to have to be sick again.  She doubted whether she could bear it.

“You must come from somewhere,” said the lower berth, “and being a Twinkler it must be Westphalia.”

“We don’t really,” said Anna-Rose, mindful of Anna-Felicitas’s words and making a great effort to speak politely.  “We come from England.”

“England!” cried the lower berth, annoyed by this quibbling.  “You were born in Westphalia.  All Twinklers are born in Westphalia.”

“Invariably they are,” said the upper berth.  “The only circumstance that stops them is if their mothers happen to be temporarily absent.”

“But we weren’t, really,” said Anna-Rose, continuing her efforts to remain bland.

“Are you pretending—­pretending to us,” said the lower berth lady, again beating her hand on the edge of her bunk, “that you are not German?”

“Our father was German,” said Anna-Rose, driven into a corner, “but I don’t suppose he is now.  I shouldn’t think he’d want to go on being one directly he got to a really neutral place.”