Just before midnight Dyke went and undid some of Hannah’s shutters in order to open the front door. He wrapped Emmie in one of his overcoats, and they stood side by side on the gravel outside the house. The night was fine and still with the stars very bright in a dark but cloudless sky. Above the black mass of the ilex trees they could see vaguely the church tower.
“Will the bells be rung?” asked Dyke.
“Oh, no,” said Emmie. “That’s the new year, you’re thinking of. They don’t ring in Christmas.”
Presently the church clock began to strike the midnight hour. Dyke counted the strokes, and when the twelfth came he stooped and kissed her forehead.
“A happy Christmas, Emmie.”
“And to you, Tony dear. But are you happy, I wonder?”
“As happy as several birds”; and he put his arm round her waist. “How could I be otherwise?”
They came in again, and barred the door. As she went upstairs she looked down at him and saw him looking up at her, his face all gay and bright.
“Good-night. Good-night.”
From the landing at the top of the stairs she looked down again, and saw his whole attitude relax. His head drooped, his shoulders hunched themselves; and with his hands in his pockets he went slowly back to the room they had left.