Dorabella showed her delight in seeing us and seemed very well. She hugged me and said: “You’ve no idea how I have missed you. It is just not right…our not being together. How can people cast off a habit of a lifetime?”

She spoke with a certain earnestness which was unusual with her; and the thought flashed into my mind that she might be, well, not exactly regretting the choice she had made, but perhaps questioning it. Yet Dermot was devoted and they seemed very affectionate toward each other. Perhaps being pregnant had an effect on her.

She embraced our parents with great fervor and it was really wonderful to be together again.

“It is only another month to go now,” said my mother. “Then you will find it has all been so worthwhile.”

“And you are only staying a week!”

“Well, we shall be down again in less than a month.”

When she saw the miniature she was overcome with delight.

“But it is beautiful!” she cried. “And it is mine. I love it. It will be almost like having you with me. I shall never, never part with it.”

She studied it closely. “It is clever. It’s lovely. Mind you, it flatters you a little.”

“Thank you for your sisterly candor,” I retorted.

“Well, it does. It is not exactly a raving beauty, but it is interesting…like the Mona Lisa.”

“Good Heavens!” I cried. “I never cared for that Gioconda smile.”

“I don’t mean you look like her. You look like yourself. But…it’s beautiful.”

“The compliments grow every minute.”

She laughed. “It is so good to have you here, Vee,” she said sincerely, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve missed you. You can’t know how I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I told her.

“It’s not right that we should be apart. We’ve been together right from the beginning of our existence. We ought never to have been separated. We are really part of each other. You ought to marry some nice Cornishman and live here with me. Nothing else will please me. You have a chance. There is that Jermyn man. That would be fun. And the feud and all that. Perhaps Gordon? But I prefer the Jermyn.”

“All very funny,” I said.

“And you have been gadding about in London, I hear. I am told that Edward’s friend Richard is very charming. You went to the opera…”

“We all went.”

“Traviata. Our dear Mama looks just a little cosy about Richard’s choice of Traviata.”

“You would have loved it.”

“I would rather have had mine. Perhaps if I had been there, he would have chosen the one with Dorabella in it.”

“I am sure he would.”

“You don’t mean that at all. But what fun it must have been…and then getting that lovely miniature painted. I should like one of myself.”

“I knew you would. I was going to suggest you have yours done. It can be your Christmas present to me.”

I told her about Mary Grace.

“Richard’s sister, eh? The plot is thickening. You are getting on well with his family.”

“I found this frame. Don’t you think it is exquisite?”

“Lovely.”

“There is another just like it. They are a pair.”

“Where?”

“Waiting in the shop. They are holding it until I know whether you’ll agree to have your miniature painted.”

“But of course I will. She’ll come here, will she, this Mary Grace?”

“I thought when the baby was born.”

“Not until then?”

“You can’t think about that sort of thing while you’re waiting for the baby. Besides, it will be better when you are quite normal again.”

“I like the idea,” she said.

“You can write to Mary Grace. I’ll take the letter back with me. You could ask her down for a week or two. She would fit it in. She works very quickly. The whole thing will be completed by Christmas.”

“How glad I am to have you here! It makes life exciting!”

“What! You need me when you have an adoring husband and baby whose arrival is imminent? You still need your sister!”

“Always,” she said earnestly. “You are not just an ordinary sister. You are a part of me.”

Our stay was a brief one. I saw Jowan Jermyn once. I told him then that I should be down again in November and that this was just a birthday celebration. We drank mulled wine in a hotel two or three miles out of Poldown and he said as we parted: “I shall see more of you in November. You won’t make it such a short visit then, I presume.”

I said I was unsure. I might even stay until after Christmas.

“We haven’t decided yet what we shall do,” I explained. “My parents would like Dorabella to come home for Christmas, but it will be too soon for the baby to travel.”

“You will be here,” he said.

Gordon was a little more approachable. The memory of our adventure lingered on. He said how pleased he was that we were here and Dorabella seemed to miss me very much.

“You know what twins can be like,” I said.

“Yes. The relationship is very close.”

That was all. And then we left and came home.

A week or so later there was a letter from Nanny Crabtree and one for me from Dorabella.

They arrived when we were at breakfast. My mother opened hers immediately. I liked to take Dorabella’s letters to my bedroom that I might be alone when I read them, because she often wrote very frankly, for my eyes only. My mother knew this and would ask later what I had heard from her.

“Wonderful!” she cried, reading her letter. “Nanny Crabtree is already there. Just the same old Nanny Crabtree. She is going to make some changes in the nursery. She says Dorabella is doing well and everything seems to be in order. She’s quite satisfied with her condition. She’s not sure of the doctor, though. You have to watch these country doctors, she says.”

Nanny Crabtree herself came from London and believed that everyone who did not could not be expected to share that certain shrewdness which belonged to those born in the capital.

“She was just the same with us at Caddington,” said my mother, with a grimace. “She’ll be even more critical with the Cornish. It’s even farther from London. I’m so glad she is there. She’ll know exactly what’s what, and as long as she doesn’t alienate the doctor, all should be well. I wonder what Matilda thinks of her? The trouble with people like Nanny Crabtree is that they believe they are right and everyone who disagrees with them is wrong. Actually nine times out of ten she is right.”

“I thought you were absolutely certain no one but Nanny Crabtree would do.”

“I am, but she can rub people up the wrong way.”

“Dorabella wants her.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine with her darling Dorabella, and the baby couldn’t be in better hands, but Nanny Crabtree will have things done her way.”

“Perhaps that’s no bad thing.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

I wanted to get away to read Dorabella’s letter, and so I went to my room.

Dear Vee,

Well, Nanny Crabtree has arrived in all her glory. Dermot went down to the station to collect her and I have an idea that she doesn’t approve of him. Who could disapprove of Dermot? He was meek with her and answered all her questions as well as could be expected from a mere man. She is a little critical of the house. She thinks it’s draughty. “What can you expect?” she said. “With all that sea outside.” She’s changed the nursery round a bit and she makes me rest more. I was always the self-willed one. “Not like that Miss Violetta.” You have become a paragon of virtue. It was always like that, wasn’t it? The good twin was the absent one.

She goes off every now and then into something we did when we were three…or four. Well, she has anecdotes for all ages. The baby is her baby. I am allowed a slight proprietorial interest. You wouldn’t think Dermot had anything to do with it. Nanny Crabtree’s babies are all hers. Poor darling, I hope when he/she arrives, he/she does not find her too overpowering.

Matilda is so patient and goes along with everything she suggests. Dermot quite likes her, although she behaves toward him as though he is one of those half-witted men who wouldn’t know one end of a baby from the other. Gordon, she thinks, is a bit of a misery. She doesn’t know what to make of the old man, though they rarely meet. I am sure she considers him of no importance whatsoever.