Two maids in black dresses and an extraordinary amount of stiffly starched aprons and caps and streamers rose awkwardly and bobbed awkward little bows. One was very tall, the other rather short. The tall one looked extraordinarily severe and the short one extraordinarily glum, Mark thought, to have young men. Mabel looked from the girls to Mark and from Mark to the girls, precisely as if she were exhibiting rare specimens to her husband and her husband to her rare specimens. And in the tone of one exhibiting pinned, dried, and completely impersonal specimens, she announced, "They're sisters. Their name is Jinks." Mark, examining the exhibits, had been feeling like a fool. Their name humanized them and relieved his awkward feeling. "Ha! Jinks, eh? High Jinks and Low Jinks, what?" He laughed. It struck him as rather comic; and High Jinks and Low Jinks tittered broadly, losing in the most astonishing way the one her severity and the other her glumness. Mabel seemed suddenly to have lost her interest in her exhibits and their cage. She rather hurried Mark through the kitchen premises and, moving into the garden, replied rather abstractedly to his plans for the garden's development. Suddenly she said, "Mark, I do wish you hadn't said that in the kitchen." He was mentally examining the possibilities of a makeshift racket court against a corner of the stable and barn. "Eh, what in the kitchen, dear?" "That about High Jinks and Low Jinks." "Mabel, I swear we could fix up a topping sort of squash rackets in that corner. Those cobbles are worn absolutely smooth--" "I wish you'd listen to me, Mark." He caught his arm around her and gave her a playful squeeze. "Sorry, old girl, what was it? About High Jinks and Low Jinks? Ha! Dashed funny that, don't you think?" "No, I don't. I don't think it's a bit funny." Her tone was such that, relaxing his arm, he turned and gazed at her. "_Don't_ you? Don't you really?" "No, I don't. Far from funny." Some instinct told him he ought not to laugh, but he could not help it. The idea appealed to him as distinctly and clearly comic. "Well, but it _is_ funny. Don't you see? High Jinks alone is such a funny expression--sort of--well, you know what I mean. Apart altogether from Low Jinks," and he laughed again. Mabel compressed her lips. "I simply don't. Rebecca is not a bit like High Jinks." He burst out laughing. "No, I'm dashed if she is. That's just it!" "I really do not see it." "Oh, go on, Mabel! Of course you do. You make it funnier. High Jinks and Low Jinks! I shall call them that." "Mark." She spoke the word severely and paused severely. "Mark. I do most earnestly hope you'll do nothing of the kind." He stared, puzzled. He had tried to explain the absurd thing, and she simply could not see it. "I simply don't." And again that vague and transient discomfort shot through him. IX