ne dinner, but there wouldn't be words in which to tell
you how thankful we'd be if you'd spend it with us. Would you--would
you come to us, Miss Frances?"

Into the eager blue eyes looking up the dark eyes looked down, and,
looking, grew misty. "Dear child, I'd come to you if I were here, but
I do not think I'll be here." Her head went up as if impatient with
herself. "I'm going away on Christmas day--going--" She took out her
watch hurriedly and looked at it. "It's after half past five,
Carmencita. You will have to hurry or you won't see the wedding guests
go in. Good-by, dear. Have a good time and tuck away all you see to
tell me later. I will be so busy between now and Christmas, there will
be no time for talking, but after Christmas--Why, you've got on your
straw hat, Carmencita! Where is the winter one Miss Cattie gave you?
She told me she had given you a perfectly good hat that would last a
long time."

"She did." Carmencita's hands were stuck in the deep pockets of her
long coat, and again her big blue eyes were raised to her friend's.
"It would have lasted for ever if it hadn't got burned up. It fell in
the fire and got burned up." Out in the hall she hesitated, then came
back, opened the door, and put her head in. "It did get burned up,
Miss Frances. I burned it. Good-by."

Late into the night Frances Barbour sat at her desk in the bare and
poorly furnished room which she now called hers, and wrote letters,
settled accounts, wrapped bundles, assorted packages, and made lists
of matters to be attended to on the next day. When at last through,
with the reaction that comes from overtired body and nerves she leaned
back in her chair and let her hands fall idly in her lap, and with
eyes that saw not looked across at the windows, on whose panes bits of
hail were tapping weirdly. For some minutes thought was held in
abeyance; then suddenly she crossed her arms on the table, and her
face was hidden in them.

"Oh, Stephen! Stephen!" Under her breath the words came wearily. "We
were so foolish, Stephen; such silly children to give each other up!
All through the year I know, but never as I do at Christmas. And
we--we are each other's, Stephen!" With a proud uplifting of her head
she got up. "I am a child," she said, "a child who wants what it once
refused to have. But until he understood--" Quickly she put out the
light.

CHAPTER III

He was ashamed of himself for being ashamed. Why on earth should he
he