“Geoffrey!” she gasped in bewilderment, “Geoffrey!” It was all she could utter; the suddenness of it, and the surprise, seemed to have bereft her of all words.
“Forgive me, Celia,” he panted. “It was a liberty I ought not to have taken; but it is a Christmas privilege—under the mistletoe, you know.”
He looked at her penitently. She sank down on to a low chair by the fire. A warm colour suffused her cheeks, and her eyes were very bright.
Geoffrey took up his position on the other side of the hearth, with his arm resting on the mantelpiece.
“Are you very angry with me?” he asked timidly, half expecting to be reproached.
“No, not angry,” she answered in a low voice; “but you should not have done it, Geoffrey. My fiancé would be angry if he knew.”
She looked up, and met his gaze unflinchingly. He sighed. They gazed into the glowing embers as if they would read therein the reflection of each other’s thoughts. A burning coal fell into the fender. Geoffrey adjusted the tongs, and put it back again.
“What strange visions are in the fire,” he observed after a pause. “Shall I tell you what I can see? Two children, a girl and a boy. The girl has hazel eyes and bronze-gold hair, almost the colour of that pale flame. The boy is fair and freckled. They have met in a meadow on the way home from school. The girl is pulling off the petals of a daisy, one by one, ‘Loves me, loves me not.’ The last one comes to ‘loves me!’ She looks questioningly at the little boy. Yes, he does love her, loves her better than his new cricket bat, better than the guinea-pig which his father gave him for his birthday; she is his little sweetheart!”
He poked the fire; Celia stirred uneasily. “Look, the scene has changed,” he continued dreamily. “The girl and boy are grown up now, new interests have come into their lives, their spheres have widened. No longer do they stroll in the meadows after school, though in the school of life they sometimes meet. The boy is still faithful to his early love; but she—she has forgotten that they were ever sweethearts. She is beautiful, talented, and an heiress, and belongs to a race and faith more ancient than his own. He is the son of a country clergyman, and has no good prospects, nothing to offer her but his love; and yet——”
He broke off abruptly. Celia had risen to her feet. Her lips were parted, and her breath came quickly, whilst the hand which lightly rested on the chair-back trembled like a leaf.