Queenie herself looked upon the whole business of the tree as a piece of
useless frivolity unworthy the time and attention of grown-up people.
And she went about the share in it which she had been persuaded to
undertake with a stolid and supercilious manner which went far to spoil
the enjoyment of the rest.

Dudley entered, into the affair with some zest, but it was noticeable
that he devoted himself to Queenie, and exchanged very few remarks with
Doreen. There was a certain barrier of constraint springing up between
him and Doreen which had risen to an uncomfortable height by the time
the curate entered.

Doreen, whose cheeks were much flushed and whose eyes were unusually
bright, was extremely gracious. She offered to take Mr. Lindsay into the
grounds to interview the gardener, so that they might come to an
understanding about the evergreens to be used. She glanced at Dudley as
she made this proposal. He glanced back at her; and in his black eyes
she fancied for a moment that she saw a mute protest, a plea.

For a moment she hesitated. Standing still in the middle of the room,
not far from where he was busy helping Queenie to tie up a particularly
limp and fragile box of chocolates, she seemed to wait for a single
word, or even for another look, to turn her from her purpose.

But Dudley turned away, and either did not see or did not choose to
notice the pause. Then the tears sprang to the girl's eyes, and she ran
quickly to the door.

"Come, Mr. Lindsay," said she, "we must make haste. At this stage of
things, every minute has to be weighed out like gold, I assure you."