"Indeed," said the old gentleman. "Indeed. How was that?"
"By the usual method, if an uncle isn't a blood uncle," said Anna-Rose. "We happened to have a marriageable aunt, and he married her. So we have to have him."
"It was sheer bad luck," said Anna-Felicitas, again brooding on that distant image.
"Yes," said Anna-Rose. "Just bad luck. He might so easily have married some one else's aunt. But no. His roving glance must needs go and fall on ours."
"Indeed," said the old gentleman. "Indeed." And he ruminated on this, with an affectionate eye—he was affectionate—resting in turn on each Anna.
"Then Mr. Twist," he went on presently—"we all know him of course—a public benefactor—"
"Yes, isn't he," said Anna-Rose radiantly.
"A boon to the breakfast-table—"
"Yes, isn't he," said Anna-Rose again, all asparkle. "He is so pleasant at breakfast."
"Then he—Mr. Twist—Teapot Twist we call him where I live—"