Marmaduke and I, having decided on accepting no invitations until after Christmas, being filled with a desire to spend this season (which will be our first together) in our own home, settle down for a short time into a lazy Darby-and-Joan existence.
----
It is the second of December; the little ormolu toy up on the mantle-piece has chimed out a quarter to five; it is almost quite dark, yet there is still a glimmer of daylight that might, perhaps, be even more pronounced but for the blazing fire within that puts it to shame.
"What a cosy little room it is!" says 'Duke from the doorway. "You make one hate the outer world."
"Oh, you have come," I cry well pleased, "and in time for tea. That is right. Have you taken off your shooting-things? I cannot see anything distinctly where you now are."
"I am quite clean, if you mean that," says he, laughing and advancing. "I shall do no injury to your sanctum. But it is too early to go through the regular business of dressing yet."
"Had you a good day?"
"Very good indeed, and a pleasant one altogether. Jenkins was with me, and would have come in to pay you his respects, but thought he was hardly fit for so dainty a lady's inspection. Have you been lonely, darling? How have you occupied yourself all day?"
"Very happily," I say, surrendering one of my warm hands into his cold ones. And then I proceed to recount all the weighty affairs of business with which I have been employed during his absence.
But even as I speak the words freeze upon my lips. Between me and the dreary landscape outside rises something that chills every thought of my heart.