Mrs. Home took the note, and flung it into the fire.
"There!" she said, an angry spot on each cheek. "She and hers have injured me and mine. I don't want gifts from her. I want my rights!"
To this burst of excited feeling Mr. Home answered nothing. After a moment or two of silence he rang the bell, and when Anne appeared asked her to take away the tea-things. After this followed an hour of perfect quiet. Mrs. Home took out her great basket of mending. Mr. Home sat still, and apparently idle, by the fire. After a time he left the room to go for a moment to his own. Passing the nursery, he heard a little movement, and, entering softly, saw Harold sitting up in his little cot.
"Father, is that you?" he called through the semi-light.
"Yes, my boy. Is anything the matter? Why are you not asleep?"
"I couldn't, father dear; I'm so longing for to-morrow. I want to blow my new trumpet again, and to see the rest of the brown-paper parcels. Father, do come over to me for a moment."
Mr. Home came, and put his arm round the little neck.
"Did mother tell you that our pretty lady came to-day, and brought such a splendid lot of things?"
"Whose pretty lady, my boy?"
"Ours, father—the lady you, and I, and Daisy, and baby met in the park yesterday. You said it was rude to kiss her, and she did not mind. She gave me dozens and dozens of kisses to-day."