ist set his teeth. He defied
Elliott. He defied the Germans. He would see this thing successful, this
Open Arms business, or his name wasn't Twist. And he stuck out his
jaw--or would have stuck it out if he hadn't been prevented by the
amiable weakness of that feature. But spiritually and morally, when he
got back into the house he was all jaw.

CHAPTER XXXIV

That night he determined he would go into Acapulco next morning and drop
in at his bank and at his lawyer's and other places, and see if he could
pick up anything that would explain why Americans wouldn't come and have
tea at The Open Arms. He even thought he might look up old Ridding. He
didn't sleep. He lay all night thinking.

The evening had been spent _tete-a-tete_ with Anna-Felicitas. Anna-Rose
was in bed, sleeping off her tears; Mrs. Bilton had another headache,
and disappeared early; so he was left with Anna-Felicitas, who slouched
about abstractedly eating up the remains of ice-cream. She didn't talk,
except once to remark a little pensively that her inside was dreadfully
full of cold stuff, and that she knew now what it must feel like to be a
mausoleum; but, eyeing her sideways as he sat before the fire, Mr. Twist
could see that she was still smug. He didn't talk either. He felt he had
nothing at present to say to Anna-Felicitas that would serve a useful
purpose, and was, besides, reluctant to hear any counter-observations
she might make. Watchfulness was what was required. Silent watchfulness.
And wariness. And firmness. In fact all the things that were most
foreign to his nature, thought Mr. Twist, resentful and fatigued.

Next morning he had a cup of coffee in his room, brought by Li Koo, and
then drove himself into Acapulco in his Ford without seeing the others.
It was another of the perfect days which he was now beginning to take
as a matter of course, so many had there been since his arrival. People
talked of the wet days and of their desolate abundance once they
started, but there had been as yet no sign of them. The mornings
succeeded each other, radiant and calm. November was merging into
December in placid loveliness. "Oh yes," said Mr. Twist to himself
sardonically, as he drove down the sun-flecked lane in the gracious
light, and crickets chirped at him, and warm scents drifted across his
face, and the flowers in the grass, standing so bright and unruffled
that they seemed almost as profoundly pleased as Anna-Felicitas, nodded
at h