Edmund, and his two little ladies, were on the other side of Henry; Julia the nearest to him: whenever she looked away, he stole the fruit off her plate; and laughed much, in unison with his young lady, at her look of innocent astonishment, when she turned about; and at her instant application to Edmund, to get her more fruit; which, at the next opportunity, Henry would again steal. At length he was discovered; and Julia, without condescending to remonstrate, turned her shoulder as much as possible to him, and took better care of her plate; which she pushed with both hands quite close to Edmund’s.
Henry’s young lady, now seized with a strong veneration for justice, insisted on her swain’s making restitution of the heap of fruit, by this time collected before her. He, accordingly, slipped his hand over Julia’s head, and emptied the young lady’s plate on hers. Julia turned round; hustled back from off her own chair, and on to Edmund’s knee, supporting herself with one arm over his shoulder; and now, facing the enemy, she took up her plate in her other hand, slid off its whole contents on the table near Henry, still without speaking to him, and asked Edmund to give her more fruit; which he did.
“That is not polite, my dear,” observed Lady L.; “why should you throw Henry’s fruit away, and take the same kind from Edmund?”
“Because,” answered Julia, speaking distinctly, and with an air of importance and decision which amused every one, “I don’t love Henry, and I do love Edmund!”
“Explicit, upon my word!” said a gentleman at the other side of the table, who had been all day receiving alternate smiles and frowns from an heiress, to whom he was paying his devotions.
“You love poor Henry, then, I suppose,” said that gentleman’s fair neighbour to Frances.
“No, indeed!” said Frances; “I hate Henry!”
“And so do I!” said Julia.
The twins always made it a point to be exactly of the same opinion.