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 altogether!" The General seemed to be enjoying his port, all the same.
Said Gwen:—"But he used to lick you, so you couldn't love him."
"Couldn't I? I was awfully fond of Phil. So was he of me. I expect Cain was very fond of Abel. They loved each other like brothers. Not like other people!"