"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
hesitate to tell Peterkin he would dine alone on Christmas day? It was
none of Peterkin's business how he dined, or where, or with whom. And
still he had not brought himself to the point of informing Peterkin,
by his order for dinner at home, that he was not leaving town for the
holidays, that he was not invited to dine with any one else, and that
there was no one he cared to invite to dine with him. It was the 22d
of December, and the custodian in charge of his domestic arrangements
had not yet been told what his plans were for the 25th. He had no
plans.

He might go, of course, to one of his clubs. But worse than telling
Peterkin that he would dine alone would be the public avowal of having
nowhere to go which dining at the club would not only indicate, but
affirm. Besides, at Christmas a club was ghastly, and the few who