r
having done it. He saw that at once with relief. Nor was she, it would
seem, in any sort of distress. On the contrary, Anna-Felicitas looked
particularly smug. He saw that once too, with surprise,--why smug?
wondered Mr. Twist. She had a pleased look of complete satisfaction on
her face. She was oblivious, he noticed, as she passed between the
tables, of the guests who tried in vain to attract her attention and
detain her with orders. She wasn't at all hot, as Anna-Rose had been,
nor rattled, nor in any way discomposed; she was just smug. And also she
was unusually, extraordinarily pretty. How dared they all stare up at
her like that as she passed? And try to stop her. And want to talk to
her. And Wangelbecker actually laying his hand--no, his paw; in his
annoyance Mr. Twist wouldn't admit that the object at the end of Mr.
Wangelbecker's arm was anything but a paw--on her wrist to get her to
listen to some confounded order or other. She took no notice of that
either, but walked on towards the pantry. Placidly. Steadily. Obvious.
Smug.

"You're to come into the office," said Mr. Twist when he reached her.

She turned her head and considered him with abstracted eyes. Then she
appeared to remember him. "Oh, it's you," she said amiably.

"Yes. It's me all right. And you're to come into the office."

"I can't. I'm busy."

"Now Anna II.," said Mr. Twist, walking beside her towards the pantry
since she didn't stop but continued steadily on her way, "that's
trifling with the facts. You've been in the garden. I saw you come in.
Perhaps you'll tell me the exact line of business you've been engaged
in."

"Waiting," said Anna-Felicitas placidly.

"Waiting? In the garden? Where it's pitch dark, and there's nobody to
wait on?"

They had reached the pantry, and Anna-Felicitas gave an order to Li Koo
through the serving window before answering; the order was tea and hot
cinnamon toast for one.

"He's having his tea on the verandah," she said, picking out the most
delicious of the little cakes from the trays standing ready, and
carefully arranging them on a dish. "It isn't pitch dark at all there.
There's floods of light coming through the windows. He won't come in."

"And why pray won't he come in?" asked Mr. Twist.

"Because he doesn't like Germans."

"And who pray is he?"

"I don't know."

"Well I do," burst out Mr. Twist. "It's old Ridding, of course. His name
is Ridding. The old man who was here yesterday. Now