he General was a little taken aback. She would have been so very old to
have had twins before the French Revolution. She was able to assign a
reasonable meaning to her words, and the old boy became deeply
interested in the story of the sisters. So much so that when the ladies
rose to go, she said calmly to her mother:--"I'm not coming this time.
You can all go, and I'll come when we have to start the dancing. I want
to talk to General Rawnsley." And the Countess had to surrender, with an
implication that it was the only course open in dealing with a lunatic.
She could, however, palliate the position by a reference to the abnormal
circumstances. "We are quite in a state of chaos to-day," said she to
her chief lady-guest. And then to the Earl:--"Don't be more than five
minutes.... Well!--no longer than you can help."

The moment the last lady had been carefully shut out by the young
gentleman nearest the door, Gwen drove a nail in up to the head, _more
suo_. Suppose General Rawnsley had lost a twin brother fifty years ago,
and she, Gwen, had come to him and told him it had all been a mistake,
and the brother was still living! What would that feel like? What would
he have done?

"Asked for it all over again," said the General, after consideration.
"Should have liked being told, you see! Shouldn't have cared so very
much about the brother."

"No--do be serious! Try to think what it would have felt like. To oblige
me!"

The General tried. But without much success. For he only shook his head
over an undisclosed result. He could, however, be serious. "I suppose,"
said he, "the twinnery--twinship--whatever you call it...."

"Isn't _de rigueur_?" Gwen struck in. "Of course it isn't! Any real
fraternity would do as well. Now try!"

"That makes a difference. But I'm still in a fix. Your old ladies were
grown up when one went off--and then she wrote letters?..."

"Can't you manage a grown-up brother?"

"Nothing over fourteen. Poor Phil was fourteen when he was drowned.
Under the ice on the Serpentine. He had just been licking me for boning
a strap of his skate. I was doing the best way I could without it ... to
get mine on, you see ... when I heard a stop in the grinding noise--what
goes on all day, you know--and a sort of clicky slooshing, and I looked
up, and there were a hundred people under the ice, all at once. There
was a f'ler who couldn't stop or turn, and I saw him follow the rest of
'em under. Bad sort of job alt