"No, because then he said it was her fault anyhow for not keeping us stricter." "So," said Anna-Felicitas, "after the house had been steeped in a sulphurous gloom for over a week, and we all felt as though we were being slowly and steadily gassed, we tried to make it up by writing a final one--a nice one--and leaving it on his plate at breakfast: Kiss your Wife. But instead of kissing her he--" She broke off, and then finished a little vaguely: "Oh well, he didn't." "Still," remarked Anna-Rose, "it must be pleasant not to be kissed by a husband. Aunt Alice always wanted him to, strange to say, which is why we reminded him of it. He used to forget that more regularly than almost anything. And the people who lived in the house nearest us were just the opposite--the husband was for ever trying to kiss the person who was his wife, and she was for ever dodging him." "Yes," said Anna-Felicitas. "Like the people on Keats's Grecian Urn." "Yes," said Anna-Rose. "And that sort of husband, must be even worse. "Oh, much worse," agreed Anna-Felicitas. She looked round amiably at the three quiet figures in the chairs. "I shall refrain altogether from husbands," she said placidly. "I shall take something that doesn't kiss." And she fell into an abstraction, wondering, with her cheek resting on her hand, what he, or it, would look like. There was a pause. Anna-Rose was wondering too what sort of a creature Columbus had in her mind, and how many, if any, legs it would have; and the other three were, as before, silent. Then the old lady said, "Albert," and put out her hand to be helped on to her feet. The old gentleman struggled out of his chair, and helped her up. His face had a congested look, as if he were with difficulty keeping back things he wanted to say. Miss Heap got up too, stuffing her knitting as she did so into her brocaded bag. "Go on ahead and ring the elevator bell, Albert," said the old lady. "It's time we went and had our nap." "I ain't going to," said the old gentleman suddenly. "What say? What ain't you going to, Albert?" said the old lady, turning her slow eyes round to him. "Nap," said the old gentleman, his face very red. It was intolerable to have to go and nap. He wished to stay where he was and talk to the twins. Why should he have to nap because somebody else wanted to? Why should he have to nap with an old lady, anyway? Never in his life had he wanted to nap with old ladies. It was all a dreadful mistake. "Albert," said his wife looking at him. He went on ahead and rang the lift-bell. "You're quite right to see that he rests, Mrs. Ridding," said Miss Heap, walking away with her and slowing her steps to suit hers. "I should say it was essential that he should be kept quiet in the afternoons. You should see that Mr. Ridding rests more than he does. _Much_ more," she added significantly. "I can't get Mr. Ridding to remember that we're neither of us--" This was the last the twins heard.