“With rum in it?” queried Juliet.

“I don’t think so,” said Isabel, doubtfully.  “Aunt Francesca never does.”

“We don’t, either,” Romeo explained, “except when it’s very cold, and then only a teaspoonful.”

“The doctor said we didn’t need stimulants.  What was it he said we needed, Romie?”

“Sedatives.”

“Yes, that was it—­sedatives.  I looked it up in the dictionary.  It means to calm, or to moderate.  I think he got the word wrong himself, for we don’t need to be calmed, or moderated, do we, Romie?”

“I should say not!”

The twins sipped their tea in silence and nibbled daintily at wafers from the cracker jar.  Then, feeling that their visit was over, they rose with one accord.

“We’ve had a dandy time,” said Juliet, crushing Isabel’s hand in hers.

“Bully,” supplemented Romeo.  “Come and see us.”

“I will,” Isabel responded, weakly.  “How do you get there?”

“Just walk up the main road and turn to the left.  It’s about three miles.”

“Three miles!” gasped Isabel.  “I’ll drive out.”

“Just so you come,” Romeo said, graciously.  “It’s an awful old place.  You’ll know it by the chimney being blown over and some of the bricks lying on the roof.  Good-bye.”

Juliet turned to wave her hand at Isabel as they banged the gate, and Romeo awkwardly doffed his cap.  Their hostess went up-stairs with a sigh of relief.  She had the sensation of having quickly closed a window upon a brisk March wind.

The twins set their faces toward home.  The three-mile walk was nothing to them, even after a day of skating.  The frosty air nipped Juliet’s cheeks to crimson and she sniffed at it with keen delight.

“It’s nice to be out,” she said, “after being in that hot house.  What do you think of her, Romie?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied carelessly.  “Say, how did she have her hair done up?”

“She had rats in it, and it was curled on a hot iron.”

“Rats?  What in thunder is—­or are—­that, or they?”

“Little wads of false hair made into cushiony rolls.”

“Did she tell you?”

“No,” laughed Juliet.  “Don’t you suppose I can see a rat?”

“I thought rats had to be smelled.”

“Not this kind.”

“She smelled of something kind of sweet and sticky.  What was it?’

“Sachet powder, I guess, or some kind of perfume.”

“I liked the smell.  Can we get some?”

“I guess so—­we’ve got the price.”

“Next time you see her, ask her what it is, will you?”

“All right,” answered Juliet, unperturbed by the request.

The rest of the way was enlivened by a discussion of automobiles.  Romeo had a hockey match on for the following day, which was Saturday, so they were compelled to postpone their investigations until Monday.  It seemed very long to wait.