“Yes.  And then there’s the exchange,” said Anna-Rose, frowning.  “As if it wasn’t complicated enough already, there’s the exchange.  Uncle Arthur said we weren’t to forget that.”

Anna-Felicitas wanted to know what was meant by the exchange, and Anna-Rose, unwilling to admit ignorance to Anna-Felicitas, who had to be kept in her proper place, especially when one was just getting to America and she might easily become above herself, said that it was something that varied. ("The exchange, you know, varies,” Uncle Arthur had said when he gave her the L5 note.  “You must keep your eye on the variations.”  Anna-Rose was all eagerness to keep her eye on them, if only she had known what and where they were.  But one never asked questions of Uncle Arthur.  His answers, if one did, were confined to expressions of anger and amazement that one didn’t, at one’s age, already know.)

“Oh,” said Anna-Felicitas, for a moment glancing at Anna-Rose out of the corner of her eye, considerately not pressing her further.

“I wish Mr. Twist would come,” said Anna-Rose uneasily, looking in the direction he usually appeared from.

“We won’t always have him” remarked Anna-Felicitas.

“I never said we would,” said Anna-Rose shortly.

The young lady of the nails appeared at that moment in a hat so gorgeous that the twins stopped dead to stare.  She had a veil on and white gloves, and looked as if she were going for a walk in Fifth Avenue the very next minute.

“Perhaps we ought to be getting ready too,” said Anna-Felicitas.

“Yes.  I wish Mr. Twist would come—­”

“Perhaps we’d better begin and practise not having Mr. Twist,” said Anna-Felicitas, as one who addresses nobody specially and means nothing in particular.

“If anybody’s got to practise that, it’ll be you,” said Anna-Rose.  “There’ll be no one to roll you up in rugs now, remember.  I won’t.”

“But I don’t want to be rolled up in rugs,” said Anna-Felicitas mildly.  “I shall be walking about New York.”

“Oh, you’ll see,” said Anna-Rose irritably.

She was worried about the dollars.  She was worried about the tipping, and the luggage, and the arrival, and Uncle Arthur’s friends, whose names were Mr. and Mrs. Clouston K. Sack; so naturally she was irritable.  One is.  And nobody knew and understood this better than Anna-Felicitas.

“Let’s go and put on our hats and get ready,” she said, after a moment’s pause during which she wondered whether, in the interests of Anna-Rose’s restoration to calm, she mightn’t have to be sick again.  She did hope she wouldn’t have to.  She had supposed she had done with that.  It is true there were now no waves, but she knew she had only to go near the engines and smell the oil.  “Let’s go and put on our hats,” she suggested, slipping her hand through Anna-Rose’s arm.