The doctor's hand dropped, and all the hope and fire went from his eyes.
"I beg your pardon for being so foolish, Miss Durant. I--I lost my senses
for a moment--or I would have known that you never--that the other was
your gift." He stooped to pick it up from the floor where he had dropped
it. "Thank you very deeply for your kindness, and--and try to forget my
folly."

"I--I--couldn't understand why Swot suddenly--why he--I never dreamed of
his doing it," faltered the girl.

"His and my knowledge of social conventions are about on a par," responded
the man, with a set look to his mouth. "Shall I give it back to him or to
you?"

Constance drew a deep breath. "It wasn't--my--gift--but--but--I don't mind
your keeping it if you wish."

"You mean--?" cried Dr. Armstrong, incredulously.

"Oh," said the girl, hurriedly, "isn't that enough, now? Please, oh,
please--wait--for a little."

The doctor caught her hand and kissed it. "Till death, if you ask it!" he
said.

Five minutes later Swot abstracted himself sufficiently from his gifts to
peep around the tree and ecstatically inquire,--

"Say, oin't dis de doisiest Christmas dat ever wuz?"