Sydney and Miss Osric spent a blissful hour over the letters and presents. I think Sydney cried a little over those with the London post-mark, for Christmas-time with its associations had made her more homesick than she knew.
They had all written to the absent one, and there were presents from everybody. No one had forgotten her, from old nurse down to Prissie. Sydney and Miss Osric undid parcels and munched home-made toffee with a noble disregard for the spoiling of their appetites, until the luncheon gong sounded, by which time the morning-room where they were sitting looked exactly like a Christmas bazaar.
But Sydney had not forgotten her morning’s resolution, and when lunch was over and Lady Frederica, exhausted, doubtless, by her unaccustomed early rising, had fallen asleep in her chair, Sydney got up and moved softly from the gold drawing-room, crossed the hall, and tapped lightly at the door of the library.
“Come in,” said St. Quentin’s voice.
Sir Algernon was with his host, and both men looked up as she entered. The excitement of the home letters had brought a flush to her face, and her eyes were very bright. Sir Algernon let his cigarette drop from between his fingers as he looked at her. “By Jove!” he muttered.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” said Sydney, flushing under his cool survey. “I only”—with an unconsciously appealing glance in the direction of the sofa—“I only came to give my Christmas wishes to you, Cousin St. Quentin.”
“Thanks,” said St. Quentin, holding out his hand to her. “You’re going for a stroll in the park, aren’t you, Bridge?”
“Ah, yes, of course I am,” his friend answered. “Have a look round at the timber, eh, Quin? Miss Lisle, I hope you made my humble apologies to the Vicar for not attending church this morning. Oh, all right!” in answer to a rather impatient sound from the sofa. “I’m off, old man. Ta-ta!”
He lounged out, and Sydney felt relieved by his absence.