“Tell Mr. Hobart to come right up,” hanging up the receiver and running to the mirror to see just how much of a fright she looked.
She had no time to think of a change of costume for in he came, a veritable domestic gentleman muffled in an ulster, holly in his buttonhole and something in white tissue paper and tied with red ribbon.
“Merry Christmas! I had five minutes’ extra time and I thought I’d drop in to take the chance of finding you. Had an idea you’d be in the doldrums, first Christmas out of the backyard, y’know.” Unasked, he slipped off the ulster and Thurley saw he was in evening dress. “Thing at the club,” he explained, noticing her expression. “Well, what have we been doing? Don’t tell me that rascal of a Sam had you behind for tea.”
“He did.” Thurley suddenly found her old wild-rose self as she told him of the matinée.
When she finished he said, those curious gray eyes of his narrowing, “A good singer should have a good—” holding out the white tissue paper parcel.
“Oh, what?” she demanded. “It’s the only present I’ve had that was done in white tissue paper. Nothing came from home and the others laugh at Christmas. Miss Clergy gave me this bracelet—but the bill was in the box,” she added resentfully. “But this—this is direct from Santa Claus.”
“It’s a good mascot,” he informed her gravely. “Always keep it to say little heathen prayers or curses to and tell it your troubles and your joys. In short, treat it like a regular fellow.”
Thurley scrambled the paper and ribbon away. “Why—I bought you almost the same,” she said unconsciously.
Hobart laughed. “You actually bought your stern maestro a present?”
Thurley was absorbed in looking at the little Buddha carved from lapis lazuli with gold for the features and diamonds for eyes. “This one is much lovelier,” she said.