As they all sat around now in the parlor, into which the smell of the Sunday turkey had somehow penetrated, a few more guests wandered in and sat about provisionally on the impracticable parlor furniture, waiting for the dinner signal. Mrs. Howard bravely tried to keep up the simulation of social interchange with which she ever pathetically strove to elevate the boarding-house intercourse into the decency of a chosen association. Suddenly there came a thump and a crash against the door and the twins burst in, their jackets unbuttoned, their dusty picture hats awry. "Oh! mater, mater!" they cried tumultuously, dancing about her. "Such sport, mater. We fed the elephant." "And the rabbits--" "And a monkey carried off Gwendolen's gloves--" "Children," exclaimed Mrs. Hilary impotently, looking from one to the other, "where _have_ you been?" (She pronounced it bean.) "To the park, mater--" "To see the animals--" "Oh, mater, you should see the ducky little baby lion!" "What is it that they call you?" inquired a perpetually smiling young kindergartner who had just taken possession of a top-floor hall-room. Mrs. Hilary glanced at her slightingly. "What is it that they _call_ me? Why, mater, of course." "Ah, yes," the girl acquiesced pleasantly. "I remember now; it's English, of course." "Oh, no," returned Mrs. Hilary instructively, "it's not English; it's Latin." The kindergartner was silent. Mrs. Pendleton suppressed a chuckle that strongly suggested her "mammy." Mr. Barlow grinned and Elsie Howard's mouth twitched. "They are such picturesque children," Mrs. Howard put in hastily. "I wonder you don't paint them oftener." "I declare I just wish I could paint," Mrs. Pendleton contributed sweetly, "I think it's such pretty work." Mrs. Hilary was engrossed in the task of putting the twins to rights. "I don't know what to do with them, they are quite unmanageable," she sighed. "It's so bad for them--bringing them up in a lodging-house." Mrs. Howard flushed and Mrs. Pendleton's eyes flashed. The dinner bell rang and Elsie Howard rose with a little laugh. "An English mother with American children! What do you expect, Mrs. Hilary?" Mrs. Hilary was busy retying a withered blue ribbon upon the left side of Gladys' brow. She looked up to explain: "They are only half-American, you know. But their manners are getting quite ruined with these terrible American children." Then they filed down into the basement dining-room for the noon dinner. "Horrid, rude little Cockney," Mrs. Pendleton whispered in Elsie Howard's ear. The girl smiled faintly. "Oh, she doesn't know she is rude. She is just--English."