"I wonder what made you want to do that?" asked Donnington dryly.
"Somehow—well, you know, Bill, that sort of cool unbelief of hers stings me. She's always thought I make it all up as I go along."
"You do sometimes," he said in a low voice.
"I used to, Bill—but I don't now: it isn't necessary."
He turned rather quickly. "Honest Injun, Bubbles?"
"Yes. Honest Injun!" There was a pause. "What do you think of Varick?" she suddenly whispered.
"I think Mr. Varick," answered Donnington coldly, "is a thoroughly nice sort of chap. I like his rather elaborate, old-fashioned manners."
"He's a queer card for all his pretty manners," muttered Bubbles; and somehow Donnington felt that something else was on the tip of her tongue to say, but that she had checked herself, just in time.
"I wish," he said earnestly, "I do wish, Bubbles, that you and I could have a nice, old-fashioned Christmas. They sent up to-night to know if Mr. Varick would allow some of his holly to be cut for decorating the church—why shouldn't we go down to-morrow and help? Do, Bubbles—to please me!"
"I will," she said penitently. "I will, dearest."