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satisfaction.
    By now, of course, the Monk-Pusey-Bleinkinsop party were the cynosure of all eyes and nobody was trying to pretend otherwise. Glanville and Ranville, as they insisted on being called since it would have been absurd to address them as Mr. Bleinkinsop and Mr. Bleinkinsop, must surely be used to being stared at. Both Clorinda, as the former ingenue, soubrette, and even occasional tragedienne of the Traveling Thespians, and Arethusa, as the reigning queen of regency romance, were quite accustomed to public notice. Dittany hadn’t much minded playing to an audience back when she was playing tiny tot roles in her mother’s company, but in her present condition she could have done with a trifle more obscurity.
    Osbert, in the strong, silent tradition of the men of the West, plumb hated the spotlight. However, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Besides, he was too intrigued at the way Glanville and Ranville managed the amenities to feel self-conscious about his own situation. It was particularly fascinating to see them matter-of-factly get up and switch positions every so often so that Glanville got to face Clorinda and Ranville face Arethusa. The only difference this made to Osbert and Dittany was that Glanville looked at them sometimes over his right shoulder, and sometimes over his left, whereas Ranville had to turn his head sometimes left and sometimes right, depending.
    As far as conversation was concerned, the twins had it pretty much their own way. Not even Clorinda, usually not the most silent member of any assemblage, managed to get more than the odd word in edgewise. Arethusa, who tended to withdraw into her own world of rakes, ruffles, and rapiers anyway, merely smiled her Lady Ermintrude smile and gazed at whichever twin happened to be her vis-à-vis at any given moment with those great, dark eyes which had been described variously as limpid pools of midnight and as fathomless depths of inscrutability. It was only a matter of moments, Dittany realized, before both twins fell in love with Arethusa.
    Maybe they already had; the process didn’t usually take long. And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. In their peculiar circumstances, being in love with the same woman might be a good deal less of a strain on what in this case could be referred to most accurately as the family tree. Courtship could have become a real problem if they’d fallen for two different women, especially if the women didn’t like each other. Or if Glanville didn’t take kindly to the object of Ranville’s affections. Or, of course, vice versa.
    Had Clorinda still been Ditson Henbit’s widow, Dittany thought, there’d have been no problem at all. She and Arethusa would have got along just fine as wives in a singularly close-knit household. Naturally, though, no well-bred British gentleman would be so crass as to make advances to the spouse of a hotshot fashion eyewear salesman, even if Clorinda had not been so obviously and enthusiastically about to become a grandmother.
    “How long are you planning to stay in Lobelia Falls?” Dittany asked the twins when she could get a word in.
    “We’re not quite sure,” said Glanville.
    “We want to see something of Cousin Prudence,” said Ranville.
    “Since we’ve never met her before,” said Glanville.
    “But Prudence appears to be a busy lady,” said Ranville.
    “That shop of hers must do a whacking business,” said Glanville.
    “Pru was busy as a one-armed juggler when we stopped by,” said Ranville.
    “But she gave us to understand that the rush was a bit unusual,” said Glanville.
    “Something about a man getting shot,” said Ranville.
    “I think you mean plugged, old boy,” said Glanville.
    “I stand corrected, old boy,” said Ranville. “Plugged he was. Out front, I believe.”
    “Right, old boy,” said Glanville. “Cousin Pru apologized for the bloodstains on the sidewalk.”
    “Quite needlessly,” said Ranville.
    “We expected them,”