"We send—this," after a pause. Colonel Tracy seemed unwilling to explain.
Dorothea knelt on a stool close to the table, resting her hands upon it, much interested.
"Do tell me more," she said. "It is Christmas Eve, and I have nobody else to talk to."
"There is nothing to tell. We had a—a trifling disagreement," said the Colonel. "What makes you wear spectacles?"
"Short sight. Why, father, you know that!"
"I had forgotten. Well, I shall put this away," said the Colonel.
"And send another to your friend?"
"No. Certainly not. Next Christmas, I shall return this."
A light dawned on Dorothea. "Is that it? I see. How strange!"
"Not strange at all. We have done so for some years—eight or nine, I think—alternately."