In a high good humor he went on shining and shining all through tea; and though at the end of it his luster was for a while dimmed by the discovery that he had left his cigarette-case at the inn and there were no cigarettes in the house, he was presently shining again.

Then the Twins and Wiggins rose and retired firmly into the garden.
They came out into the calm autumn evening with their souls seething.
"He's a pig--and a beast! We can't let Mum marry him! We _must_ stop it!" cried Erebus.
"It's all very well to say 'must.' But you know what Mum is: if she thinks a thing is for our good, do it she will," said the Terror gloomily.
"And she never consults us--never!" cried Erebus.
"Only when she's a bit doubtful," said the Terror.
"Then she's not doubtful now.

She hasn't said a word to us about it," said Erebus.
"That's what looks so bad.

It looks as if she'd made up her mind already; and if she has, it's no use talking to her," said the Terror yet more gloomily.
They were silent; and the bright eyes of Wiggins moved expectantly backward and forward from one to the other.

He preserved a decorous sympathetic silence.
"No, it's no good talking to Mum," said Erebus presently in a despairing tone.
"Well, we must leave her out of it and just squash the Cruncher ourselves," said the Terror.
"But you can't squash the Cruncher!" cried Erebus.
"Why not?
We've squashed other people, haven't we ?" said the Terror sharply.
"Never any one so thick-skinned as him," said Erebus.
The Terror frowned deeply again: "We can always try," he said coldly.
"And look here: I've been thinking all tea-time: if stepchildren don't like stepfathers, there's no reason why stepfathers should like stepchildren." "The Cruncher likes us, though it's no fault of ours," said Erebus.
"That's just it; he doesn't really know us.