y of Mr. Dick
Ransome, and the greater part of his Christmas Night in the society of
pretty Maggie Forrest, the new girl in Evans's shop who had sold him the
Christmas roses and the lilies. "For," said he, "if I can't go and see
Edie, I'll go and see Maggie." And he enjoyed seeing Maggie as much as it
was possible to enjoy anything that was not seeing Edie.

And Edie lay among her Christmas roses and her lilies, and smiled, with
a high courage, at Nanna, at Majendie, and Anne; and did her best to make
everybody believe that she was having a very happy Christmas. But at
night, when it was all over, Majendie held a tremulous and tearful Edie
in his arms.

"Don't think me a brute, darling," he said. "I would have insisted, only
if he'd come to-day he'd have found out he wasn't wanted."

"I know; and he never would have come again."

He didn't come. For Canon Wharton enlightened Mrs. Hannay, and Mrs.
Hannay enlightened Mr. Hannay, and Mr. Hannay enlightened Mr. Gorst.

"Of course," said the prodigal, "if she walks out of the house when
I walk into it, I can't very well go."

"Well, not at present, perhaps, for the sake of peace," said Hannay. "It
strikes me poor old Majendie's in a pretty tight place with that wife of
his."

So, for the sake of peace, Mr. Gorst kept away from Prior Street and his
Edie, and spent a great deal of time in Evans's shop, cultivating the
attention of Miss Forrest.

And, for the sake of peace, Majendie kept silence, and his sister
concealed her trembling and her tears.

CHAPTER XVII

Gloom fell on the house in Prior Street in the weeks that followed
Christmas. The very servants went heavily in the shadow of it. Anne began
to have her bad headaches again. Deep lines of worry showed on Majendie's
face. And on her couch by the window, looking on the blackened winter
garden, Edith fought day after day a losing battle with her spine.

The slow disease that held her captive there seemed to be quickening its
pace. In January there came a whole procession of bad nights, without, as
she pathetically said, "anything to show for it," for her hands could
make nothing now. She lay flatter than ever; each day she seemed to sink
deeper into her couch.

Anne, between her headaches, devoted herself to her sister with a kind
of passion. Her keenest experience of passion came to her through the
emotion wakened in her by the sight of Edith's suffering. She told
herself that her love for Edith s