"I am disturbing your illusions again. Yet I rather like them. I think
you are quite capable of a sacrifice--perhaps you know what it is
already."

He felt that she was looking at him; he felt equally that he could not
respond with a commonplace. He was silent.

"I have offended you again, Mr. Bradley," she said. "Please be
Christian, and pardon me. You know this is a season of peace and
goodwill." She raised her blue eyes at the same moment to the Christmas
decorations on the ceiling. They were standing before the parted drapery
of the lance window. Midway between the arched curtains hung a spray
of mistletoe--the conceit of a mischievous housemaid. Their eyes met it
simultaneously.

Bradley had Lady Canterbridge's slim, white hand in his own. The next
moment voices were heard in the passage, and the door nearly opposite to
them opened deliberately. The idea of their apparent seclusion and half
compromising attitude flashed through the minds of both at the same
time. Lady Canterbridge stepped quickly backward, drawing Bradley with
her, into the embrasure of the window; the folds of the curtain swung
together and concealed them from view.

The door had been opened by the footman, ushering in a broad-shouldered
man, who was carrying a travelling-bag and an umbrella in his hand.
Dropping into an arm-chair before the curtain, he waved away the
footman, who, even now, mechanically repeated a previously vain attempt
to relieve the stranger of his luggage.

"You leave that 'ere grip sack where it is, young man, and tell Sir