"The elder of these two girls, now—"
"There isn't an elder," said Mr. Twist.
"Come, come," said the lawyer patiently, waiting for him to be sensible.
"There isn't an elder," repeated Mr. Twist, "They're twins."
"Twins, are they? Well I must say we manage to match up our twins better than that over here. But come now—hasn't it occurred to you you might marry one of them, and so become quite naturally related to them both?"
Mr. Twist's spectacles seemed to grow gigantic.
"Marry one of them?" he repeated, his mouth helplessly opening.
"Yep," said the lawyer, giving him a lead in free-and-easiness.
"Look here," said Mr. Twist suddenly gathering his mouth together, "cut that line of joke out. I'm here on serious business. I haven't come to be facetious. Least of all about those children—"
"Quite so, quite so," interrupted the lawyer pleasantly. "Children, you call them. How old are they? Seventeen? My wife was sixteen when we married. Oh quite so, quite so. Certainly. By all means. Well then, they're to be your wards. And you don't want it known how recently they've become your wards—"