"You'd better ask mother." Charles ruffled Marian's cropped head.
"No! A secret, Daddy!"
"Well. Ask Mrs. O'Lay, then."
"Tell Letty!" She pounded on his knee.
"Here, you!" He glanced again at Catherine, and his grin was suddenly like Spencer's. "That's no way to learn a secret. You wait."
Catherine's heart began to beat quickly. He is wretched about something, she thought. Bothered. But he wants to pretend. Marian whisked back, jumping about it. "It's all right! She says sure!"
"Then you wait at the door. Don't let them guess," and he stalked off, leaving Marian solemn in her delight, stationed at the door.
"Chwismas!" shouted Letty. But Marian shooed her out of the hall when Daddy returned.
Dinner had caught the slight tingling mood of a special occasion. Charles was deliberately jolly, and the children responded in expansive delight. Excitement moved pleasantly into Catherine, too, in spite of her sober, concealed thoughts. That other dinner, ages ago, with the children responsive then to the contention between her and Charles. The friendly enclosure of the room, with Letty at her left, Charles across from her, the other two—and Mrs. O'Lay waddling in and out. Above all, Spencer, safely clear of that dark threat.