Chimney, with fairy-tales forgot, Margaret Elizabeth repeated her aunt's
question. After all, who was Mr. Reynolds? That which had so lately
seemed an adventure compounded of kindliness and fun, she now beheld
only as an awkward situation. She began to feel that she had overstepped
the bounds in asking him to the Christmas tree; and the red stocking!
What nonsense! Why should she have felt concerned over his loneliness?
Were there not many lonely people in the world? Might he not infer from
it all a rather excessive interest in him and his affairs? Her interview
with Tim at the hospital, for instance, though it had come about by the
purest chance, looked on the surface as if she had been bent upon
investigating him.

The Candy Man's offering, which she at first found so happily
significant and appropriate, now began to seem almost a piece of
presumption. It lay ignored if not forgotten, till its brown and
withered contents were tossed into the fire by one of the maids. Did
Miss Bentley wish her to save the basket?

No, Miss Bentley cared nothing for it. Or, wait--she liked sweet grass,
and on second thought she would keep it.

Never had the holiday season been so gay. There was not time for a
minute's connected thought. Margaret Elizabeth honestly tried to keep
her promise to stop and reflect for at least ten minutes a day, but
either she went to sleep, or fell into a waking dream that bore small
relation to the sober realities upon which she was supposed to dwell.

There were guests at Pennington Park for the holidays--English friends
of her uncle and aunt, persons of a broader culture than Margaret
Elizabeth had ever before encountered. They afforded her an object