“Did Cousin St. Quentin care for Christmas when he was well?” Sydney asked a little wistfully.
“Well, I remember one year, when both his father and mother were alive, they had the regular old-fashioned sort of Christmas, and he certainly seemed to enjoy it. The Dean of Donisbro’ and his daughter Katharine were here, I remember. The Dean had slipped upon a slide some tiresome boy had made when he came over to dine here the week before Christmas, and he fell and sprained his ankle. Of course Dr. Lorry wouldn’t let him travel, so St. Quentin got poor dear Alicia, his mother, to go to Donisbro’ herself and bring back Miss Morrell to spend Christmas with her father. There were only those two, you see. My dear, Katharine Morrell was a pretty girl in those days! You’ve seen her, haven’t you? but she has gone off a good deal. I fancy St. Quentin admired her rather, but it didn’t come to anything, though we all thought it would that Christmas-time. But she was a good deal too strait-laced for him, I expect; not that he was worse than other young man, but he ran through a lot of money on cards and racing, and annoyed his poor father very much. Oh! Sir Algernon, is that you?” (Sir Algernon had entered at the moment). “I was telling Sydney of that Christmas when the Dean and Miss Morrell were here. I forget if you have met Katharine Morrell?”
Sydney saw a strange expression cross the handsome face for a moment. But in a second he had answered in his usual rather languid accents, “Yes, I know her slightly; very slightly.”
Christmas Day dawned clear and sunny and Sydney, as she stood beside Lady Frederica in the Castle pew at Lislehurst Church, felt something of the joy of Christmas coming to her, even in this strange place. She smiled across at little Pauly, who, standing beside Mr. Seaton’s housekeeper, was singing, “Hark! the herald angels sing” with all his might, and to a time and tune quite his own.
Mr. Seaton’s sermon was very short; he said he thought the Christmas hymns and carols preached a better sermon than he had the power to do. He only asked his people to remember that next to God’s glory, the angels had set peace and goodwill upon earth. The second followed on the first. He wanted all those who had to-day been glorifying God for His great Christmas Gift, to see to it that peace and goodwill was not lacking in that small part of God’s earth that concerned each—his or her own home.
Sydney had not seen her cousin since her outburst on the subject of the Chichesters, and her conscience pricked her. It was true that St. Quentin had expressed no wish to see her, but she had made no attempt to find out if he had one unexpressed. Surely the first move towards that peace and goodwill of which Mr. Seaton spoke should come from her!
She and Lady Frederica drove home together; Sydney full of eagerness for the post, which would have come while they were at church.
Lady Frederica laughed, and said Sydney was “the most childish girl for her age she had ever known”; but when they reached the Castle, she fastened a dainty little pearl brooch into the collar of the girl’s frock, with a “There, my dear, is a Christmas present for you!”
Sydney was a good deal touched by this kindness from one who generally seemed dissatisfied with her, but still she was undoubtedly relieved when Lady Frederica told her that she might take her parcels and letters to her rooms and amuse herself as she liked till luncheon. Lady Frederica, it appeared, was going to rest after the tremendous exertion of getting up sufficiently early to attend eleven o’clock service!