“Can you row?” he asked, politely.

“No,” replied Isabel, shortly.  “I’m afraid of the water.”

“Juliet can row.  She won the women’s canoe race in the regatta last Summer.  The prize was twenty-five dollars in gold.”

“Romie taught me,” put in Juliet.

“We’ll teach you this Summer,” said Romeo, with a frank, boyish smile that showed his white teeth.

“Thank you,” responded Isabel, inwardly vowing that they wouldn’t.

“Juliet can do most everything I can,” went on Romeo, with the teacher’s pardonable pride in his pupil.  “She can climb a tree in her knickers, and fish and skate and row and swim and fence, and play golf and tennis, and shoot, and dive from a spring board, and she can ride anything that has four legs.”

“Romeo taught me,” chanted Juliet, in a voice surprisingly like his own.

There was an awkward pause, then Romeo turned to his hostess.  “What can you do?” he asked, meaning to be deferential.  Isabel thought she detected a faint trace of sarcasm, so her answer was rather tart.

“I don’t do many of the things that men do,” she said, “but I speak French and German, I can sing and play a little, sew and embroider, and trim hats if I want to, and paint on china, and do two fancy dances.  And when I go back home, I’m going to learn to run an automobile.”

The twins looked at each other.  “We never thought of it,” said Juliet, much crestfallen.

“Wonder how much they cost,” remarked Romeo, thoughtfully.

“Where can you buy ’em?” Juliet inquired.  “Anywhere in town?”

“I suppose so,” Isabel assented.  “Why?”

“Why?” they repeated together.  “We’re going to buy one and learn to run it!”

“You must have lots of money,” said Isabel, enviously.

“Loads,” replied Romeo, with the air of a plutocrat.  “More than we can spend.”

“We get our income the first day of every month,” explained Juliet, “and put it into the bank, but when the next check comes, there’s always some left.”  They seemed to consider it a mild personal disgrace.

“Why don’t you save it?” queried Isabel.

“What for?” Romeo demanded, curiously.

“Why, so you’ll have it if you ever need it.”

“It keeps right on coming,” Juliet explained, pulling down her sweater. 
“Uncle died in Australia and left it to us.  He died on the thirtieth of
June, and we always celebrate.”

“Why don’t you celebrate his birthday?” suggested Isabel, “instead of the day he died?”

“His birthday was no good to us,” replied Romeo, “but his death-day was.”

“But if he hadn’t been born, he couldn’t have died,” Isabel objected, more or less logically.

“And if he hadn’t died, his being born wouldn’t have helped us any,” replied Juliet, with a dazzling smile.

There was another pause.  “Will you have some tea?” asked Isabel.