And Fairy, bursting into tears, rushed wildly out of the room. For all
her poetical nature, Fairy was usually self-restrained and calm. Only
twice before in all her life had Prudence seen her so tempest-tossed,
and now, greatly disturbed, yet pleased at the passionate avowals, she
hurried away in search of her sister. She needed no more assurance of
her attitude.

So the twins and Connie came into an empty room, and chattered away to
themselves abstractedly for an hour. Then Prudence came down.
Instantly Connie was asked the all-important question:

"Are your feet wet?"

Connie solemnly took three steps across the room. "Hear me sqush," she
said proudly. She did sqush, too!

"Constance Starr, I am ashamed of you! This is positively wicked. You
know it is a law of the Medes and Persians that you change your shoes
and stockings as soon as you come in when your feet are wet. Do it at
once. I'll get some hot water so you can soak your feet, too. And you
shall drink some good hot peppermint tea, into the bargain. I'll teach
you to sit around in wet clothes! Do you think I want an invalid on my
hands?"

"Oh, don't be so fussy," said Connie fretfully, "wet feet don't do any
harm." But she obligingly soaked her feet, and drank the peppermint.

"Are your feet wet, twins?"