Nora was putting on her hat in her own room; Christopher, her little son, was being dressed in the nursery to accompany her; Christabel, his twin sister, was in her own pertinacious way arguing with her mother. The Twins, known as Punch and Judy, had reached the age of two. Each had a will, and a method of making it known—though in this respect Judy caused most perplexity to her young parents. She was now asserting it.
"Me go too, mummie," in a decided tone, for the sixth time.
"No, Judy—not this time. Your turn next," Nora said cheerfully.
She did not like separating the twins, but one was as much as she could reasonably take to an afternoon tea party. They must learn some time to be divided, she thought sadly, after reflecting on the woes of the world.
"Me s'all go, mummie," in beautifully clear accents, with a charming smile.
"Shall you, dear? Yes, next time," Nora said, bending over the vivid little face, just the height of her dressing-table.
"If we're not back when father comes in," she went on, suggesting solace, "will you take care of him, Judy, and love him?"
"Yuv father," murmurously assented the baby, busy with a knot in her pink pinafore.
"And don't take off your pinafore, Judy," said her mother.