Jim put his head out of the door and took a survey of the room beyond. "Sitting on opposite sides of the fireplace," he announced.
"That's pretty near," admitted Mr. Kingsley. "That's certainly pretty near. With a fire between them. I wonder what——"
"Syl's tumble did it. It made the mix-up we were looking for. Not exactly as we would have planned it, but rather more effectively, I should say."
"Stephen," said Mrs. Clara, moving the cards about in an absent sort of way, "Stephen and Jim, I want to tell you that—well—Isabel and I——"
"Yes," helped Stephen eagerly.
"Good for you!" encouraged her nephew.
"We couldn't seem to keep it up—not here—on Christmas Day—after Syl——" Tears were suddenly threatening the holly cards. Mrs. Clara rose quickly. "I think they're all right now, Stephen," she said, indicating the cards and clearing her eyes with a touch of a lace-bordered handkerchief. "I've put Sam and Syl at the far ends of the table."
"I want them near together."
"But—had you better?"
"I'm going to risk it."