“Peter!”

“Paul!”

“Wud ‘ee mind pinchin’ me i’ the ca’f o’ the leg, jes’ to make sure?”

“I was a-goin’ to ax the same favour, Paul.”

“Well, churchwarden or no churchwarden, I reckon I am damned!”

“What I complains of in this ’ere fash’nubble life,” said Peter slowly, “es this—­’tes too various—­by a sight, too various.”

“Arter eatin’ next door to nuthin’ all day, so’s we mou’tn’ be behindhand in tacklin’ the vittles!”

There was an interval of painful stupor.

“Paul!”

“Peter!”

“I’m reckonin’ up what my hunger’s wuth at this moment.  I dunno as I’d take twenty pund for ’t.”

Inside the house Mr. Fogo had sunk into an armchair, and was regarding the ceiling with thoughtful attention.  He was aroused by steps in the hall, and Tamsin re-entered the room, followed by Caleb with the soup-tureen.

“Hulloa! where’s the Twins?”

“Eh?”

“Es this a round game, or a conjurin’ trick?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Fogo turned a dull gaze upon him.  Caleb set down the tureen with a crash, and rushing up shook his master gently, but firmly, by the collar.

“Where—­be—­they—­Twins?”

“Oh!  The Twins?  They have gone—­gone some five minutes.  I saw them out.  It’s all—­Bless my soul, how extraordinary, to be sure!”

Caleb did not wait for the end of the sentence, but darting out, discovered the brothers in the porch, and haled them back.

“I beg your pardon most heartily,” said Mr. Fogo, as they appeared; “the fact is—­”

“There’s no call, sir.  I reckon us’ll get the grip o’t wi’ time an’ practice; on’y bein’ new to the ropes, so to spake—­”

Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin.  She broke into a merry laugh.

It snapped the spell.  The Twins, who had been waiting on each other for a lead with the first spoonful of soup, set down their spoons and joined in, at first decorously, then with uproar.

“Talk ’bout fun!” gasped Peter at length, with tears in his eyes, “Bill Stickles at the Market Ord’nary can’t match et—­an’ he’s reckoned a tip-topper for fun.  An’ this es fash’n!  Well, I never did.  Ho, ho, ho!”

From this moment the success of the dinner was assured.  All talked, and talked with freedom.  The brothers threw off their restraint, and were their natural and well-mannered selves.  It is true that Peter would pause now and again to slap his thigh and renew his mirth; it is true also that he continued to wear his white gloves throughout the meal.  But he pocketed them when Caleb removed the cloth, and the company fell into more easy postures.

It was late that evening when the Twins consulted their watches and rose to go, and as yet nothing had been said on the subject nearest to Mr. Fogo’s heart.  He motioned them back to their seats.

“There is still one more question that I must ask you,” he said, rising and stepping to Tamsin’s side.  “You guess what it is?”