But poor Uncle Charlie seemed glad to see him--just as glad as Aunt Isabel. Mr. Saunders sat up there amongst them, laughing and joking, now and then directing one of his quaint, romantic-sounding phrases at Missy. And she pretended to be pleased with him--indeed, she would have liked Mr. Saunders under any other circumstances. Presently he exclaimed: “By my halidome, I'm hot! My kingdom for a long, tall ice-cream soda!” And Uncle Charlie said: “Well, why don't you go and get one? The drug store's just two blocks around the corner.” “A happy suggestion,” said Mr. Saunders. He turned to Aunt Isabel. “Will you join me?” “Indeed I will,” she answered. “I'm stifling.” Then Mr. Saunders looked at Missy. “And you, fair maid?” Missy thought a cool soda would taste good. At the drug store, the three of them sat on tall stools before the white marble counter, and quaffed heavenly cold soda from high glasses in silver-looking flaskets. “Poor Charlie! He likes soda, so,” remarked Aunt Isabel. “Why not take him some?” Missy didn't know you could do that, but the drug store man said it would be all right. Then they all started home again, Aunt Isabel carrying the silver-looking flasket. It was when they were about half-way, that Aunt Isabel suddenly exclaimed: “Do you know, I believe I could drink another soda? I feel hotter than ever--and it looks so good!” “Why not drink it, then?” asked Mr. Saunders. “Oh, no,” said Aunt Isabel. “Do,” he insisted. “We can go back and get another.” “Well, I'll take a taste,” she said. On the words, she lifted the flasket to her lips and took a long draught. Then Mr. Saunders, laughing, caught it from her, and he took a long draught. Missy felt a wave of icy horror sweep down her spine. She wanted to cry out in protest. For, even while she stared at them, at Aunt Isabel in pink organdie and Mr. Saunders in blue serge dividing the flasket of soda between them, a vision presented itself clearly before her eyes: La Beale Isoud slenderly tall in a straight girdled gown of grey-green velvet, head thrown back so that her filleted golden hair brushed her shoulders, violet eyes half-closed, and an “antique”-looking flasket clasped in her two slim hands; and Sir Tristram so imperiously dark and handsome in his crimson, fur-trimmed doublet, his two hands stretched out and gripping her two shoulders, his black eyes burning as if to look through her closed lids--the magical love-potion... love that never would depart for weal neither for woe... Missy closed her eyes tight, as if fearing what they might behold in the flesh. But when she opened them again, Aunt Isabel was only gazing into the drained flasket with a rueful expression. Then they went back and got another soda for Uncle Charlie. And poor Uncle Charlie, unsuspecting, seemed to enjoy it.