And he turned away a little coldly to join
a group of loungers by the doorway. "This is not _our_ Lancers yet, Mr. Carnegie," Isabel said, as Harold
stalked up to her with her cousin by his side. "Ours is number seven." "I'm not the same Mr. Carnegie," Harold said, smiling, "though I see I
need no introduction now. I'm number seven's brother, and I've come to
ask whether I may have the pleasure of dancing number six with you." Isabel looked up at him in doubt. "You are joking, surely," she said. "You danced with me just now, the first waltz." "You see my brother over by the door," Harold answered. "But we're quite
accustomed to be taken for one another. Pray don't apologize; we're used
to it." Before the end of the evening Isabel Walters had danced three times with
Ernest Carnegie, and twice with Harold. Before the end of the evening,
too, Ernest and Harold were both at once deeply in love with her. She
was not perhaps what most men would call a lovable girl; but she was
handsome, clever, dashing, and decidedly original. Now, to both the
Carnegies alike, there was no quality in a woman so admirable as
individuality. Perhaps it was their own absolute identity of tastes and
emotions that made them prize the possession of a distinct personality
by others so highly; but in any case, there was no denying the fact that
they were both head over ears in love with Isabel Walters. "She's a splendid girl, Edie," said Harold, as he went down with his
sister to the cab in which he was to take her home; "a splendid girl;
just the sort of girl I should like to marry." "Not so nice by half as Nellie Holt," said Edie simply. "But there,
brothers never do marry the girls their sisters want them to." "Very unreasonable of the brothers, no doubt," Harold replied, with a
slight curl of his lip: "but possibly explicable upon the ground that a
man prefers choosing a wife who'll suit himself to choosing one who'll
suit his sisters." "Mother," said Ernest, as he took her down to the brougham, with little
Nellie Holt on his other arm, "that's a splendid girl, that Isabel
Walters. I haven't met such a nice girl as that for a long time." "I know a great many nicer," his mother answered, glancing half
unconsciously towards Nellie, "but boys never do marry as their parents
would wish them." "They do not, mother dear," said Ernest quietly. "It's a strange fact,
but I dare say it's partly dependent upon the general principle that a
man is more anxious to live happily with his own wife than to provide a
model daughter-in-law for his father and mother." "Isabel," Mrs. Walters said to her daughter, as they took their seats in
the cab that was waiting for them at the door, "what on earth did you
mean by dancing five times in one evening with that young man with the
light moustache? And who on earth is he, tell me?" "He's two people, mamma," Isabel answered seriously; "and I danced three
times with one of him, and twice with the other, I believe; at least so
he told me. His name's Carnegie, and half of him's called Ernest and the
other half Harold, though which I danced with which time I'm sure I
can't tell you. He's a pair of twins, in fact, one a doctor and one a
lawyer; and he talks just the same sort of talk in either case, and is
an extremely nice young man altogether. I really like him immensely." "Carnegie!" said Mrs. Walters, turning the name over carefully. "Two
young Carnegies! How very remarkable! I remember somebody was speaking
to me about them, and saying they were absolutely indistinguishable. Not sons of Mr. Carnegie, your uncle's solicitor, are they?" "Yes; so Harry Balfour told me." "Then, Isabel, they're very well off, I understand. I hope people won't
think you danced five times in the evening with only one of them. They
ought to wear some distinctive coat or something to prevent
misapprehensions. Which do you like best, the lawyer or the doctor?" "I like them both exactly the same, mamma. There isn't any difference at
all between them, to like one of them better than the other for. They
both seem very pleasant and very clever. And as I haven't yet discovered
which is which, and didn't know from one time to another which I was
dancing with, I can't possibly tell you which I prefer of two
identicals. And as to coats, mamma, you know you couldn't expect one of
them to wear a grey tweed suit in a ballroom, just to show he isn't the
other one." In the passage at the Carnegies', Ernest and Harold stopped one moment,
candle in hand, to compare notes with one another before turning into
their bedrooms. There was an odd constraint about their manner to each
other that they had never felt before during their twenty-three years of
life together. "Well?" said Ernest, inquiringly, looking in a hesitating way at his
brother. "Well?" Harold echoed, in the same tone. "What did you think of it all, Harold?" "I think, Ernest, I shall propose to Miss Walters." There was a moment's silence, and a black look gathered slowly on Ernest
Carnegie's brow. Then he said very deliberately, "You are in a great
hurry coming to conclusions, Harold. You've seen very little of her yet;
and remember, it was I who first discovered her!" Harold glanced at him angrily and half contemptuously. "_You_ discovered her first!" he said. "Yes, and you are always
beforehand with me; but you shall not be beforehand with me this time. I
shall propose to her at once, to prevent your anticipating me. So now
you know my intentions plainly, and you can govern yourself
accordingly." Ernest looked back at him with a long look from head to foot. "It is war then," he said, "Harold; war, you will have it? We are
rivals?" "Yes, rivals," Harold answered; "and war to the knife if so you wish
it." "War?" "War!" "Good night, Harold." "Good night, Ernest." And they turned in to their bedrooms, in anger with one another, for the
first time since they had quarrelled in boyish fashion over tops and
marbles years ago together. III. That night the two Carnegies slept very little. They were both in love,
very seriously in love; and anybody who has ever been in the same
condition must have noticed that the symptoms, which may have been very
moderate or undecided during the course of the evening, become rapidly
more pronounced and violent as you lie awake in the solitude of your
chamber through the night watches. But more than that, they had both
begun to feel simultaneously the stab of jealousy. Each of them had been
very much taken indeed by Isabel Walters; still, if they had seen no
chance of a rival looming in the distance, they might have been content
to wait a little, to see a little more of her, to make quite sure of
their own affection before plunging headlong into a declaration. After
all, it's very absurd to ask a girl to be your companion for life on the
strength of an acquaintanceship which has extended over the time
occupied by three dances in a single evening.