the old lady, "not
by blood."

The old lady's eyes moved from one twin to the other as each one spoke,
but she said nothing.

"But Aunt Alice," said Anna-Rose, "is our genuine aunt. Well, I was
going to tell you," she continued briskly, addressing the old gentleman.
"There used to be things Uncle Arthur had to do every day and every
week, but still he had to be reminded of them each time, and Aunt Alice
had a whole set of the regular ones written out on bits of cardboard,
and brought them out in turn. The Monday morning one was: Wind the
Clock, and the Sunday morning one was: Take your Hot Bath, and the
Saturday evening one was: Remember your Pill. And there was one brought
in regularly every morning with his shaving water and stuck in his
looking-glass: Put on your Abdominable Belt."

The knitting needles paused an instant.

"Yes," Anna-Felicitas joined in, interested by these recollections, her
long limbs sunk in her chair in a position of great ease and comfort,
"and it seemed to us so funny for him to have to be reminded to put on
what was really a part of his clothes every day, that once we wrote a
slip of our own for him and left it on his dressing-table: Don't forget
your Trousers."

The knitting needles paused again.

"But the results of that were dreadful," added Anna-Felicitas, her face
sobering at the thought of them.

"Yes," said Anna-Rose. "You see, he supposed Aunt Alice had done it, in
a fit of high spirits, though she never had high spirits--"

"And wouldn't have been allowed to if she had," explained
Anna-Felicitas.

"And he thought she was laughing at him," said Anna-Rose, "though we
have never seen her laugh--"

"And I don't believe he has either," said Anna-Felicitas.

"So there was trouble, because he couldn't bear the idea of her laughing
at him, and we had to confess."

"But that didn't make it any better for Aunt Alice."

"No, because then he said it was her fault anyhow for not keeping us
stricter."

"So," said Anna-Felicitas, "after the house had been steeped in a
sulphurous gloom for over a week, and we all felt as though we were
being slowly and steadily gassed, we tried to make it up by writing a
final one--a nice one--and leaving it on his plate at breakfast: Kiss
your Wife. But instead of kissing her he--" She broke off, and then
finished a little vaguely: "Oh well, he didn't."

"Still," remarked Anna-Rose, "it must be pleasant not to be kissed by a
husband. Aunt Alic