“How long—­when do you think you’ll know?” Allison asked, half afraid of the answer.

“If I knew, I’d be glad to tell you, but I don’t.  I’ve found out that it’s easier to say ‘I don’t know’ straight out in plain English than it is to side-track.  It used to be bad form, professionally, to admit ignorance, but it isn’t now.  People soon find it out and you might as well tell ’em at the start.  You just go on and keep the fuel bins well supplied and the red corpuscles busy and pretty soon we’ll see what’s doing.”

The twins were late in coming, because they had had a long discussion as to the propriety of wearing their sable garments.  Romeo, disliking the trouble of changing, argued that Allison ought to see that their grief was sincere.  Juliet insisted that the sight would prove depressing.

At the end of a lively hour, they compromised upon white, which was worn by people in mourning and was not depressing.  Juliet donned a muslin gown and Romeo put on his tennis flannels, which happened to be clean.  As they took pains to walk upon the grass and avoid the dusty places, they were comparatively fresh when they arrived, though very warm from the long walk.

Both had inexpressibly dreaded seeing Allison, yet the reality lacked the anticipated terror, as often happens.  They liked Doctor Jack immensely from the start and were greatly relieved to see Allison up and outdoors, instead of lying in a darkened room.

Almost before they knew it, they were describing their sacrificial rites and their repentance, with a wealth of detail that left nothing to be desired.  Doctor Jack was suddenly afflicted with a very bad cough, but he kept his back to them and used his handkerchief a great deal.  Even Allison was amused by their austere young faces and the earnest devotion with which they had performed their penance.

“We’ve had your car fixed,” said Romeo.  “It’s all right now.”

“We’ve paid the bill,” added Juliet.

“We want to pay everything,” Romeo continued.

“Everything,” she echoed.

“I don’t know that I want the car,” Allison answered, kindly.  “If I had been a good driver, I could have backed into the turn before you got there and let you whiz by.  I’m sorry yours is burned.  Won’t you take mine?”

“No,” answered Romeo, with finality.

“We don’t deserve even to ride in one,” Juliet remarked.  “We ought to have to walk all the rest of our lives.”

“You people make me tired,” interrupted Doctor Jack.  “Just because you’ve been mixed up in an accident, you’re about to get yourselves locoed, as they say out West, on the subject of automobiles.  By careful cultivation, you could learn to shy at a baby carriage and throw a fit at the sight of a wheelbarrow.  The time to nip that is right at the start.”

“How would you do it?” queried Allison.  His heart was heavy with dread of all automobiles, past, present, and to come.”