"Happy Christmas to you, good people! May I come and break my fast, with you? I've been all round the town and this is the last port of call."
"Come in by all means!" said Nick. "Have you brought your harp?"
Noel clapped a free and easy hand upon his shoulder. "No, I haven't. I can't harp on a full heart alone. I've tied the Tempest to your garden palings. I hope he won't carry 'em away, for I can't pay any damages, being broke in every sense of the word! Good-morning, Olga! I'm calling everyone by their Christian names this morning in honour of the day. It's my birthday, by the way; hence my romantic appellation."
He dropped into a bamboo-chair and stretched out his arms with a smile of great benignity.
"I've even been to see Badgers," he said. "He was in his bath and didn't want to admit me. However, I gained my end, I generally do," said Noel complacently, with one eye cocked at Olga's rigidly unresponsive face.
"Who is Badgers?" asked Nick.
"Why, the C.O. of course. I didn't find him in at all a Christmas spirit; but it was beginning to sprout before I left. I say, I hope you are providing lots of beef for our consumption, Nick. It's the first Christmas I've spent out of England, and I don't want to be homesick. Any form of indigestion rather than that!" He turned suddenly upon Olga. "Why does the lady of the ceremonies preserve so uncompromising an attitude? I feel chilled to the marrow."
She controlled her blush before it could overwhelm her, and very sedately she made answer. "I am not feeling very pleased with you; that's why."
"Great heaven!" said Noel. "What on earth have I done?"
"You might have the decency to let me finish my breakfast in peace," protested Nick. "My appetite can't thrive in a stormy atmosphere."