Rose made friendly inquiries about the dogs and told Allison that Romeo was said to have the finest collection of fishing tackle in the State.

Much gratified, Romeo invited Allison to go fishing with him as soon as the season opened, and, as an afterthought, politely included the Colonel.

"I've never been fishing," remarked Isabel, as she could think of nothing else to say.

"Girls are an awful bother in a boat," Romeo returned, with youthful candour. "That is, except Juliet."

Isabel flushed faintly and bit her lips. To relieve an awkward pause, Madame Francesca asked Allison to play something.

"Yes," said Romeo, "go on and play." He meant to be particularly courteous, but his tone merely indicated that he would not be seriously annoyed by music.

As the first strains came from the piano and violin, Romeo established himself upon the couch beside Isabel, and, in a low, guarded tone, began to talk automobile. Isabel was so much interested that she wholly forgot Aunt Francesca's old-fashioned ideas about interrupting a player, and the conversation became animated.

Both Rose and Allison had too much good sense to be annoyed, but occasionally, until the last chord, they exchanged glances of amus.e.m.e.nt.

When they stopped, Isabel was saying: "Your suits must be just lovely."

Romeo turned with a lordly wave of the hand. "You don't need to stop. Go on!"

"How can you expect us to play properly?" inquired Rose, tactfully, "when you're talking about automobiles? We'd much rather listen to you."

"Begin over again, won't you?" asked Allison. He added, with a trace of sarcasm wholly lost upon Romeo: "We've missed a good deal of it."

Thus encouraged, Romeo began again, thoughtfully allowing Isabel the credit of the original suggestion. He dwelt at length upon the fine points involved in the construction of "The Yellow Peril," described the brown leather and the specially designed costumes, and was almost carried away by enthusiasm when he pictured the triumphant progress of the yellow car, followed by twenty dogs in appropriate collars.

"Can you," he inquired of Allison, "think of anything more like a celebration that we could do for Uncle?"

"No," replied Allison, choking back a laugh, "unless you went out at night, too, and had fireworks."

Romeo's expressive face indicated displeasure. "Uncle was such a good man," he said, in a tone of quiet rebuke, "that I don't believe it would be appropriate."

Allison coughed and Colonel Kent hastily went to the window. Madame hid her face for an instant behind her fan and Isabel laughed openly. "I'm sure he was," said Rose, quickly. "Can you remember him at all?"

"No," Romeo responded, "we've never seen him, but he was a brick all the same."

"Are you going to run the car yourself?" queried Rose.

"Of course. Some day I'll take you out," he suggested, kindly, then turned to Isabel and played his highest trump. "Juliet said something about asking you to go with us the second time we went out. Of course it's her place to do it."

"I'd love to go," murmured Isabel.

"She'll ask you when you come out to return her call," Romeo continued.

"I've been meaning to come, but I've been waiting for good roads."

"When you come," he answered, "don't say anything about my having been here. It might make her feel bad to think I went out calling and left her asleep."

"All right--I won't."

As soon as it was possible, without obvious effort, Romeo made his escape, after shaking hands with everyone and promising to come again very soon. "I'll bring Jule next time. Good-night!"

Once outside, he ran toward home like a hunted wild animal, hoping with all his heart that Juliet was still asleep. It was probable, for more than once she had slept on the sofa all night.

But the kindly fate that had hitherto guided him suddenly failed him now. When he reached home, panting and breathless, having discovered that it was almost midnight, a drooping little figure in a torn kimona opened the door and fell, weeping into his arms.

"Oh, Romie! Romie!" cried Juliet, hysterically. "Where have you been?"

"There," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "Don't take on so, Jule. You were asleep, so I went out for a walk. I met Colonel Kent and Allison and I've been with them all the evening. I'm sorry I stayed so long."

"I haven't lied," he continued, to himself, exultantly. "Every word is the literal truth."

"Oh, Romie," sobbed Juliet, with a fresh burst of tears, "I don't care where you've been as long as I've got you back! We're twins and we've got to stand by each other!"

Romeo gently extricated himself from her clinging arms, then stooped to kiss her wet cheek. "You bet!" he whispered.

X

SWEET-AND-TWENTY

Contrary to the usual custom of woman, Isabel was ready fully an hour before the appointed time. She stood before the fire, b.u.t.toning a new glove with the sense of abundant leisure that new gloves demand. The dancing flames picked out flashes of light from the silver spangles of her gown and sent them into the farthest corners of the room. A long white plume nestled against her dark hair and shaded her face from the light, but, even in the shadow, she was brilliant, for her eyes sparkled and the high colour bloomed upon her cheeks.

Madame Bernard and Rose sat near by, openly admiring her. She was almost childish in her delight at the immediate prospect and could scarcely wait for Allison to call for her. She went to the window and peered eagerly into the darkness, waiting.

"Isabel, my dear," said Madame, kindly, "never wait at the window for an unmarried man. Nor," she added as an afterthought, "for a married man, unless he happens to be your own husband."

Isabel turned back into the room, smiling, her colour a little brighter than before. "Why not?"

"Men keep best," returned Madame, somewhat enigmatically, "in a cool, dry atmosphere. If you'll remember that fact, it may save you trouble in the years to come."

"Such worldly wisdom," laughed Rose, "from such an unworldly woman!"

"I do love the theatre," Isabel sighed, "and I haven't seen a play for a long time."

"I'm afraid we haven't done as much as we might to make it pleasant for you," Madame continued, regretfully, "but we'll try to do better and doubtless can, now that the weather is improving."

"It's been lots nicer than staying alone in a hotel," the girl answered.

"I used to go to the matinee a good deal, but I didn't know very many people and it's no fun to go alone. Don't you and Rose ever go, Aunt Francesca?"

"I go sometimes," said Rose, "but I can't even get her started."

The little grey lady laughed and tapped the arm of her chair with her folded fan. "I fully agree with the clever man who said that 'life would be very endurable were it not for its pleasures.' Far back, somewhere, there must be a strain of Scotch ancestry in me, for I 'take my pleasure sadly.'"

"Which means," commented Rose, "that the things other people find amusing do not necessarily amuse you."

"Possibly," Madame a.s.sented, with a shrug of her delicate shoulders, "but unless I'm obliged to, I won't sit in an uncomfortable chair, in a crowd, surrounded by many perfumes unhappily mixed, be played to by a bad orchestra, walked on at will by rude men, and, in the meantime, watch the exaggerated antics of people who cannot make themselves heard, even in a room with only three sides to it."