, Billy, I don't think Mr. Holland is interested in our
bargains."

"In _some_, he is."

"Yes, indeed," said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, "I
think I know of just about a dozen people who will want a circumstantial
account of all of them."

"Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine
words,--circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a
subject. Do you know, the only connotation--(are you familiar with that
word?)--the only suggestion it has for me is a _jury_?"

He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply.

It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was
almost time to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They
all rose as if glad of a break. As they passed out of the door, Geoffrey
laid his hand on McVay's arm.

"Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?" he said.

McVay smiled. "Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in
freezing weather? Don't I amuse you? Be candid."

"No."

McVay looked regretful. "As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you had
more sense of humour," he said gently.

VI

In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for
organisation rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the wall,
and tilting back at his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at work.
Geoffrey, engaged in lighting the range-fire, looked up at her as she
moved about filling the kettle and washing out pots and pans, and
thought that he and she presented the aspect of a young couple of the
labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a roof over their
heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were.

She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been,
discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy,
apples and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake,
which, with a burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well
for plum-pudding.

Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even
his irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more
friendly than before, until marred by an unfortunate incident.

He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in each
hand, when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, handkerchief in
hand, exclaiming:

"My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me--"

[Illustration: "MY DEAR FELLOW--PRAY ALLOW ME"]