"There's the rub, Janey. We don't know how Nigel will take Christmas."
"No—he'll probably be frightfully sentimental at breakfast, and kiss us both—and then he'll have a boiling bath—and then he'll take his fiddle and go out for hours to play to those wretched kids."
"A pretty fair prophecy, I should think."
"He's just like a kid himself," sighed Janey.
"Yes—I think he's getting soft in that way. At any rate, he's taken an uncommon fancy to kids. By the bye, that girl he rescued at Grinstead station, Strife's girl, has come home for Christmas. I saw her out with her father this morning, and she'd got her hair up, and looked years older. I expect she'll be getting married soon. Her people will see that she settles down early—they don't want two like her sister."
"What was that?" cried Janey.
"What?"
"I thought I heard some one in the room."
"There's nobody—look, quite empty, except for you and me. You're getting nervy, old girl."
"Perhaps I am."