en Mrs.
Bilton narrated her reminiscences was absorbed in listening to them and
trying to get some clear image of Mr. Bilton.

But she remembered the next moment, and it was like waking up to the
recollection that this is the day you have to have a tooth pulled out.
The idea of not having the tooth any more, of being free from it charmed
and thrilled her, but how painful, how alarming was the prospect of
pulling it out!

There was one good thing to be said for Mrs. Bilton's talk, and that was
that under its voluminous cover they could themselves whisper
occasionally to each other. Anna-Rose decided that if Mrs. Bilton didn't
notice that they whispered neither probably would she notice if she
wrote. She therefore under Mrs. Bilton's very nose got a pencil and a
piece of paper, and with many pauses and an unsteady hand wrote the
following:

DEAR MRS. BILTON--For some time past my sister and I have felt that we
aren't suited to you, and if you don't mind would you mind regarding the
engagement as terminated? We hope you won't think this abrupt, because
it isn't really, for we seem to have lived ages since you came, and
we've been thinking this over ripely ever since. And we hope you won't
take it as anything personal either, because it isn't really. It's only
that we feel we're unsuitable, and we're sure we'll go on getting more
and more unsuitable. Nobody can help being unsuitable, and we're
fearfully sorry. But on the other hand we're inflexible.--Yours
affectionately,

ANNA-ROSE and ANNA-FELICITAS TWINKLER

With a beating heart she cautiously pushed the letter across the table
under cover of the breakfast _debris_ to Anna-Felicitas, who read it
with a beating heart and cautiously pushed it back.

Anna-Felicitas felt sure Christopher was being terribly impetuous, and
she felt sure she ought to stop her. But what a joy to be without Mrs.
Bilton! The thought of going to bed in the placid sluggishness dear to
her heart, without having to listen, to be attentive, to remember to be
tidy because if she weren't there would be no room for Mrs. Bilton's
things, was too much for her. Authority pursuing her into her bedroom
was what she had found most difficult to bear. There must be respite.
There must be intervals in every activity or endurance. Even the _liebe
Gott_, otherwise so indefatigable, had felt this and arranged for the
relaxation of Sundays.

She pushed the letter back with a beating heart, and told herself th