hen. And, in the innocent insolence of our hearts, we
had planned such a merry one. It was the first since our marriage that
we were spending at Northlands, for like dutiful folk we had hitherto
spent the two or three festival days in the solid London house of
Barbara's parents. Her father, Sir Edward Kennion, retired Permanent
Secretary of a Government Office, was a courtly gentleman with a
faultless taste in old china and wine, and Lady Kennion a charming old
lady almost worthy of being the mother of Barbara. To speak truly, I had
always enjoyed my visits. But when the news came that, for the sake of
the dear lady's health, the Kennions were starting for Bermuda, in the
middle of December, it did not strike us desolate. On the contrary
Barbara clapped her hands in undisguised glee.

"It will do mother no end of good, and we can give Susan a real
Christmas of her own."

So we laid deep schemes to fill the house to overflowing and to have a
roystering time. First, for Susan's sake, we secured a widowed cousin of
mine, Eileen Wetherwood, with her four children; and we sent out
invitations to the _ban_ and _arriere ban_ of the county's juvenility,
to say nothing of that of London, for a Boxing-day orgy. Having
accounted satisfactorily for Susan's entertainment, we thought, I hope
in a Christian spirit, of our adult circle. Dear old Jaffery would be
with us. Why not ask his sister Euphemia? They had a mouse and lion
affection for each other. Then there was Liosha. Both she and Jaffery
met in Susan's heart, and it was Susan's Christmas. With Liosha would
come Mrs. Considine, admirable and lonely woman. We trusted to luck and
to Mrs. Considine's urbane influence for amenable relations between
Liosha and Euphemia Chayne. With Jaffery in the house, Adrian and Doria
must come. Last Christmas they had spent in the country with old Mrs.
Boldero; old Mrs. Boldero was, therefore, summoned to Northlands. In the
lightness of our hearts we invited Mr. Jornicroft. After the letter was
posted my spirits sank. What in the world would we do with ponderous old
man Jornicroft? But in the course of a few posts my gloom was lightened
by a refusal. Mr. Jornicroft had been in the habit for many years of
spending Christmas at the King's Hotel, Hastings, and had already made
his arrangements.

"Who else is there?" asked Barbara.

"My dear," said I. "This is a modest country house, not an International
Palace Hotel. Including Eileen's children