The meticulous tortuousness of family life struck Mr. Twist with a sudden great impatience.  After that large life over there in France, to come back to this dreary petticoat lying, this feeling one’s way about among tender places ...

“Who is it, Edward?” called the voice inside for the third time.

“There’s someone in there seems quite particularly to want to know who we are,” said Anna-Felicitas.  “Why not tell her?”

“I expect it’s your mother,” said Anna-Rose, feeling the full satisfaction of having got to a house from which the lady hadn’t run anywhere.

“It is,” said Mr. Twist briefly.

“Edith!” called the voice, much more peremptorily.

Edith started and half went in, but hesitated and quite stayed out.  She was gazing at the Twinklers with the same kind eyes her brother had, but without the disfiguring spectacles.  Astonishment and perplexity and anxiety were mixed with the kindness.  Amanda also gazed; and if the twins hadn’t been so sure of their welcome, even they might gradually have begun to perceive that it wasn’t exactly open-armed.

“Edith—­Edward—­Amanda,” called the voice, this time with unmistakable anger.

For one more moment Mr. Twist stood uncertain, looking down at the happy confident faces turned up to him exactly, as Anna-Felicitas had just said, like flowers turning to the sun.  Visions of France flashed before him, visions of what he had known, what he had just come back from.  His friends over there, the gay courage, the helpfulness, the ready, uninquiring affection, the breadth of outlook, the quick friendliness, the careless assumption that one was decent, that one’s intentions were good,—­why shouldn’t he pull some of the splendid stuff into his poor, lame little home?  Why should he let himself drop back from heights like those to the old ridiculous timidities, the miserable habit of avoiding the truth?  Rebellion, hope, determination, seized Mr. Twist.  His eyes shone behind his spectacles.  His ears were two red flags of revolution.  He gripped hold of the twins, one under each arm.

“You come right in,” he said, louder than he had ever spoken in his life.  “Edith, see these girls?  They’re the two Annas.  Their other name is Twinkler, but Anna’ll see you through.  They want supper, and they want beds, and they want affection, and they’re going to get it all.  So hustle with the food, and send the Cadillac for their baggage, and fix up things for them as comfortably as you know how.  And as for Mrs. Sack,” he said, looking first at one twin and then at the other, “if it hadn’t been for her running away from her worthless husband—­I’m convinced that fellow Sack is worthless—­you might never have come here at all.  So you see,” he finished, laughing at Anna-Rose, “how good comes out of evil.”

And with the sound of these words preceding him he pushed open the dining-room door and marched them in.