'I like the pearly halls best,' said Mabel: 'they're more eloquent;' and they all went down to the room where the seventy-two candles of the Christmas-tree were burning steadily and brightly, though there was no one to see them.
'Won't you call your little girl?' said Phyllis. 'The candles won't last so very long; they're the cheap kind.'
Sir Christopher twisted his fingers together.
'It's no use calling her,'he said. 'Would you mind—do you mind leaving the tree for to-night? You could fetch it to-morrow. And you won't tell anyone about the inside of my house, will you? They'd only laugh at it.'
'I don't see how they could,' said Mabel indignantly; 'it's the beautifullest, gorgerest house that ever was.'
'But we won't tell anyone,' said Guy. 'And we'll come again to-morrow—about the same time.'
Sir Christopher said, 'Yes, please.'
And they all shook hands with him and came away, leaving the Christmas-tree, with all its seventy-two candles, still making the pearly room a dream of fairy beauty.
They ran all the way home, because it was rather late, and they did not want the servants to fetch them from the parish schoolroom, where they had not spent the evening. It would have been very difficult to explain exactly where and how they had spent it, and the fact that they had promised not to say anything about it would have added considerably to the difficulty.
When they had been let in, and had taken off their hats and jackets and got their breaths, they looked at each other.