"You are all very kind, very kind indeed——very——. Mrs. Lane,"—desperately,—"come here and take your Christmas-box."
The housekeeper advances, in a rounded stately fashion, and, with an elaborate courtesy and a smile full of benignity, accepts her gift and retires with it to the background. The others having all performed the same ceremony, and also retired, Mr. Peyton draws a deep sigh of relief, and turns to Clarissa, who, all through, has stood beside him.
"I think you might have put in a word or two," he says. "But you are a traitor; you enjoyed my discomfiture. Bless me, how glad I am that 'Christmas comes but once a year!'"
"And how sorry I am!" says Clarissa, making a slight grimace. "It is the one chance I get of listening to eloquence that I feel sure is unsurpassable."
They are still standing in the hall. At this moment a servant throws open the hall door and Dorian and Horace Branscombe, coming in, walk up to where they are, near the huge pine fire that is roaring and making merry on the hearth-stone; no grate defiles the beauty of the Gowran hall. They are flushed from the rapidity of their walk, and are looking rather more like each other than usual.
"Well, we have had a run for it," says Dorian. "Not been to breakfast, I hope? If you say you have finished that most desirable meal, I shall drop dead: so break it carefully. I have a wretched appetite, as a rule, but just now I feel as if I could eat you, Clarissa."
"We haven't thought of breakfast, yet," says Clarissa. "I am so glad I was lazy this morning! A happy Christmas, Dorian!"
"The same to you!" says Dorian, raising her hand and pressing it to his lips. "By what luck do we find you in the hall?"
"The servants have just been here to receive their presents. Now, why were you not a few minutes earlier, and you might have been stricken dumb with joy at papa's speech?"
"I don't believe it was half a bad speech," says Mr. Peyton, stoutly.