So we put
the ribbons on the moment they were christened, and never took them both
off together for a second, even to bathe them, so as to prevent
accidents. Well, do you know, dear, from the time they were babies, they
were always alike in everything; but Ernest was always a fortnight
before Harold. He said "Mamma" one day, and just a fortnight later
Harold said the very same word. Then Ernest said "sugar," and so did
Harold in another fortnight. Ernest began to toddle a fortnight the
earliest. They took the whooping cough and the measles in the same
order; and they cut all their teeth so, too, the same teeth first on
each side, and just at a fortnight's distance from one another. It's
really quite an extraordinary coincidence." "The real difficulty would be," said Harold, "to find anything in which
we didn't exactly resemble one another. Well, now I must be off to this
horrid office with the Pater. Are you ready, Pater? I'll call in at
Estwood's in the course of the morning, Ernest, and tell him to look
after my teeth. I don't want to miss the Balfours' party this evening. Curious that we should be going to a party this evening too. _That_
isn't fated in our constitutions, anyhow, is it, Ernest? Good morning,
Miss Holt; the first waltz, remember. Come along, Pater." And he went
out, followed immediately by his father. "I must be going too," said Ernest, looking at his watch; "I have an
appointment with Dowson at Guy's at half-past ten--a very interesting
case: hereditary cataract; three brothers, all of them get it, each as
he reaches twelve years old, and Dowson has performed the operation on
two, and is going to perform it on the other this very day. Good
morning, Miss Holt; the second waltz for me; you won't forget, will
you?" "How awfully alike they really are, Mrs. Carnegie," said Nellie, as they
were left alone. "I'm sure I shall never be able to tell them apart. I
don't even know their names yet. The one that has just gone out, the one
that's going to be a doctor--that's Mr. Harold, isn't it?" "Oh no, dear," Mrs. Carnegie answered, putting her arm round Nellie's
waist affectionately, "that's Ernest. Harold's the lawyer. You'll soon
learn the difference between them. You can tell Ernest easily, because
he usually wears a horrid thing for a scarf-pin, an ivory skull and
cross-bones: he wears it, he says, just to distinguish him
professionally from Harold. Indeed, that was partly why Mr. Carnegie was
so anxious that Harold should go into his own office; so as to make a
distinction of profession between them. If Harold had followed his own
bent, he would have been a doctor too; they're both full of what they
call physiological ideas--dreadful things, I think them. But Mr.
Carnegie thought as they were so very much alike already we ought to do
something to give them some individuality, as he says: for if they were
both to be doctors or both solicitors, you know, there'd really be no
knowing them apart, even for ourselves; and I assure you, my dear, as
it is now even they're exactly like one person." "Are they as alike in character, then, as they are in face?" asked
Nellie. "Alike in character! My dear, they're absolutely identical. Whatever the
one thinks, or says, or does, the other thinks, says, and does at the
same time, independently. Why, once Ernest went over to Paris for a
week's holiday, while Harold went on some law business of his father's
to Brussels. Would you believe it, when they came back they'd each got a
present for the other. Ernest had seen a particular Indian silver
cigar-case in a shop on the Boulevards, and he brought it home as a
surprise for Harold. Well, Harold had bought an exactly similar one in
the Montagne de la Cour, and brought it home as a surprise for Ernest. And what was odder still, each of them had had the other's initials
engraved upon the back in some sort of heathenish Oriental characters." "How very queer," said Nellie. "And yet they seem very fond of one
another. As a rule, one's always told that people who are exactly alike
in character somehow don't get on together." "My dear child, they're absolutely inseparable. Their devotion to one
another's quite unlimited. You see they've been brought up together,
played together, sympathized with one another in all their troubles and
ailments, and are sure of a response from each other about everything. It was the greatest trouble of their lives when Mr. Carnegie decided
that Harold must become a solicitor for the sake of the practice. They
couldn't bear at first to be separated all day; and when they got home
in the evening, Ernest from the hospital and Harold from the office,
they met almost like a pair of lovers. They've talked together about
their work so much that Harold knows almost as much medicine now as
Ernest, while Ernest's quite at home, his father declares, in 'Benjamin
on Sales,' and 'Chitty on Contract.' It's quite delightful to see how
fond they are of one another." At five o'clock Ernest Carnegie returned from his hospital. He brought
two little bunches of flowers with him--some lilies of the valley and a
carnation--and he handed them with a smile, one to his sister and one to
pretty little Nellie. "I thought you'd like them for this evening, Miss
Holt," he said. "I chose a carnation on purpose, because I fancied it
would suit your hair." "Oh, Ernest," said his sister, "you ought to have got a red camelia. That's the proper thing for a brunette like Nellie." "Nonsense, Edie," Ernest answered, "I hate camelias. Ugliest flowers
out: so stiff and artificial. One might as well wear a starchy gauze
thing from the milliner's." "I'm so glad you brought Nellie Holt a flower. She's a sweet girl,
Ernest, isn't she?" said Mrs. Carnegie a minute or two later, as Edie
and Nelly ran upstairs. "I wish either of you two boys could take a
fancy to a nice girl like her, now." "My dear mother," Ernest answered, turning up his eyes appealingly. "A
little empty-headed, pink-and-white thing like that! I don't know what
Harold thinks, but she'd never do for me, at any rate. Very pretty to
look at, very timid to talk to, very nice and shrinking, and all that
kind of thing, I grant you; but nothing in her. Whenever I marry, I
shall marry a real live woman, not a dainty piece of delicate empty
drapery." At six o'clock, Mr. Carnegie and Harold came in from the office. Harold
carried in his hand two little button-hole bouquets, of a few white
lilies and a carnation. "Miss Holt," he said, as he entered the
drawing-room, "I've brought you and Edie a flower to wear at the
Balfours' this evening. This is for you, Edie, with the pale pink; the
dark will suit Miss Holt's hair best." Edie looked at Ernest, and smiled significantly. "Why didn't you get us
camelias, Harold?" she asked, with a faint touch of mischief in her
tone. "Camelias! My dear girl, what a question! I gave Miss Holt credit for
better taste than liking camelias. Beastly things, as stiff and
conventional as dahlias or sunflowers.