There was a side door just beyond the bay-window, and Dowden went to it
and rang, loud and long. It was Beasley himself who opened it.

"What in the name--" he began, as the ruddy light fell upon Dowden's
face and upon me, standing a little way behind. "What ARE you
two--snow-banks? What on earth are you fellows doing out here?"

"We've come to your Christmas party, you old horse-thief!" Thus Mr.
Dowden.

"HOO-ray!" said Beasley.

Dowden turned to me. "Aren't you coming?"

"What are you waiting for, old fellow?" said Beasley.

I waited a moment longer, and then it happened.

She came out of the shadow and went to the foot of the steps, her cloak
falling from her shoulders as she passed me. I picked it up.

She lifted her arms pleadingly, though her head was bent with what
seemed to me a beautiful sort of shame. She stood there with the snow
driving against her and did not speak. Beasley drew his hand slowly
across his eyes--to see if they were really there, I think.

"David," she said, at last. "You've got so many lovely people in your
house to-night: isn't there room for--for just one fool? It's
Christmas-time!"