cards and the letters, and presently, to dream a little.
Karel arrived very punctually and stayed for half an hour, drinking Moggy's
hot chocolate and eating mince pies. He got up at length, saying:
"If I stay any longer, you won't have a pie left in the house. I ate an
excellent dinner too, though only the kids were there. Phena has gone off
with some fellow or other to the Peachems' party, and Julius has his own
stamping ground in town."
He bade Great-Aunt Polly goodbye, and Mrs. Moggs too, then waited patiently
while Georgina made her somewhat more protracted ones. On the way back he
said, "A pity we can't have an evening out ourselves.
I don't suppose you'd like to go anywhere? " he added hopefully.
She smiled at him in the darkness of the car.
"How nice of you to ask me, Karel. I should have loved it, but I can't
really, can I? I haven't spoilt your evening, have I? I mean you could have
gone off to a party or dinner or something if you hadn't had to come for me."
"Much rather come for you, Georgina," he answered gruffly.
"I like your aunt--perhaps I could take you over next time you go?"
"Yes, of course, if you're home--and stay to lunch if you've nothing better
to do."
"I say--rather not! I shall keep you to that."
He cheered up after that, and they arrived back in great spirits and went
straight to Cor's room. The little boy was still awake and inclined to be
peevish. Georgina took one look at him.
"Gosh, I'm tired. I think I shall go to bed early, because we're got to
decorate this room tomorrow, and the rest of the house too."
She gave Karel a speaking glance and he responded manfully, observing that he
was dog- tired himself, and how about them all making an early night of it.
It did the trick; Cor allowed himself to be settled, and within ten minutes
the room was quiet, with only the small table lamp with its dark shade to
cast a comfortable glow on the ceiling. But Cor was still wide awake.
Georgina undressed, put on her dressing gown and padded back to his bedside,
a small plate piled with some of Mrs. Moggs' mince pies in her hand. She sat
down on the side of his bed and offered him one.
"They're delicious," she said.
"I know Mrs. Stephens makes marvelous pastry too, but no two people ever make
them the same." They munched together, while she regaled him with the day's
small doings.
"Now tell me what you did," she suggested. He began in his turn, getting
sleepier and sleepier, so that presently she was able to tuck him up, drop a
kiss on his forehead, and go back to her room. She had begun to run the bath
when she bethought herself of Beatrix. It was long past the child's bedtime,
but the children were excited now that Christmas was so close. She picked up
the mince pies once more and made her way to Beatrix's room. She wasn't
asleep either, for Georgina could hear her rather shrill little voice
talking. She knocked and said softly: "It's me--Georgina," and went inside.
Beatrix was in bed; so were both the cats and Robby. The little girl rolled
enormous blue eyes at her.
"George, I thought you would never come. We've all been so lonely."
She caught sight of the plate in Georgina's hand.
"What have you got there?"
Georgina told her, and went and sat on the bed, which comes it rather
crowded. She asked doubtfully, "Are these three going to stay the night?"
Beatrix bit into her pastry.
"Oh, no. When Cousin Julius comes in to tuck me up he'll take them
downstairs. He doesn't mind--he calls them my night lights She smiled
endearingly.
"Their eyes shine in the dark, you know."
"Yes," agreed Georgina gravely, "I know. Will you go to sleep now?
We've a lot to do in the morning--it'll be Christmas Eve. "
She tucked Beatrix up, somewhat impeded by the sleeping animals, responded
suitable to the little girl's hug, and returned to her room.
It was very late by the time she got into her own bed. She lay awake
listening for the sound of the Professor's car, but he still hadn't got home
when she finally got to sleep.
When she reached the dining-room the next morning, he was on the point of
leaving. He wished her good morning briefly, adding mildly that it was just
his bad luck to have work to do as early as nine o'clock in the morning.
"Very bad luck," said Georgina austerely. She hadn't slept well, and the
knowledge that she wasn't looking her best did nothing to improve her
feelings. She looked pointedly at the splendid room, with its bright fire
and well appointed table,
and then at the Professor's own large, immaculate person. Bad luck it might
be, but it was nicely cushioned. She was preparing to voice her thoughts out
loud when he said:
"No, don't say it, I can see by your face that you're about to tell me to
give my money to the poor and go and work as a bus conductor and see how I
should like that." He looked at the untidy mess he had made of his mail.
"Be an angel and sort out the letters while I get my coat, will you? I'm
expecting something from Holland."
When he came back, coated and gloved, she handed him his letters. She would
have liked to have said something--anything--to dispel his opinion of her,
but there was a hard lump in her throat which made speech impossible, and
anyway, what did it matter? She watched him go in silence, then turned to
the remaining post. It reminded her that there had been a number of letters
from Holland, several of them in a female handwriting. She sniffed
dolefully, and if it hadn't been for Milly's appearance at that moment, would
undoubtedly have burst into tears.
It was fortunate that there was so much to do that day, for there was no time
to think. As soon as she had seen to Cor, they started to hang the
decorations, and as everyone had their own ideas as to what looked best the
results were unique and startling; only in the hall and drawing room did
Dimphena and Georgina get their way. They had put their heads together days
before, and now proceeded to fill the vases with charming arrangements of
holly and Christmas roses and coloured baubles and the silvered pine cones
they had collected on their walks.
They twined holly and evergreens around the great fireplaces, and arranged
the elaborate centrepiece they had all had a hand in on the dining table.
There was a small tree for Cor's room, which they had put as close to him as
possible, so that he could help with its decoration, and while they did that,
Karel and Franz blew up the balloons which they insisted were an
indispensable part of the decorations. Karel hung them in great colourful
bunches all over the house--he hung the mistletoe as well, and then refused
to tell them where. Luncheon was a merry meal; and when it was over,
Georgina said:
"Now I'm going to the village--there are one or two last-minute things to
get."
"I'll take you." Karel was eager.
She smiled at him.
"I know you would, Karel, but have you forgotten the Sindings are coming over
this afternoon?"
> He pulled a face.
"I'd forgotten." He turned to his sister.
"I say, Phena, will they stay to tea?"
"Of course. But we'll have it early in the small sitting-room, then we can
have another tea in Cor's room after they've gone. If Julius comes home
early, I daresay we could make our excuses." She looked at Georgina.
"There's the tree to decorate-we usually do it before Julius comes home."
Georgina got up.
"Wouldn't you have time to do it before your friends come?" She smiled at
Franz.
"You'll sit with Cor, won't you, Franz, there's that marvelous jigsaw puzzle
you started before lunch."
Having organised the afternoon, she lost no time in setting out for the
village--it had stopped snowing, but there was plenty underfoot and it showed
no signs of melting. She had put on her corduroy coat, leather boots, and
the woolly tarn with the pompom on top, then wrapped its matching scarf
around her throat. The sun would soon be gone;
it would be cold walking back. It was indeed early dusk when she left the
village at length and started along the narrow, high-hedged lanes that led to
Dalmers Place. It was cold now; cold enough to turn her breath into gossamer
whorls around her head, and she could feel the first tingle of the night's
frost through her gloves. The sky was clear;
violet blue and spangled with stars. There would be a moon presently, but
for a little while she would be walking in the gathering dark. She went
fast, swinging her basket and feeling suddenly festive. She had passed the
last of the outlying cottages; there was nothing on the road; the only sound
was that of her boots flattening the snow as she walked. She began to hum
softly, then to whistle, and finally to sing.
It seemed appropriate to choose something about winter snow, and she sang
quite loudly, so that when the Rolls drew slowly to a halt beside her, she
was surprised into standing still and standing at it. Its doors opened and
the Professor's quiet voice said, "Get in."
She felt remarkably foolish, standing there, cut off, as it were, in mid-song
with the unexpectedness of it. She made no move at all, and he said again,
"Get in."
She handed him her basket without a word, and got in. They had travelled for
perhaps half a minute before he broke the silence.
"Christmas shopping?" he asked.
It pleased her that her voice sounded normal.
"No, not really. Just small things that are always forgotten until the last
minute. We needed more tags and wrapping paper and Beatrix wanted some of
those bulls eyes they sell at the Post Office."
He changed gear.
"Running errands in your free time. Nurse?"
She controlled her voice to sweet reasonableness.
"I always go for a walk in the afternoons. Why should I not--run errands, as
you say?"
"I'm only surprised to find you alone."
"There were people coming to tea--otherwise Karel and Dimphena would have
come;
Beatrix too. "
He laughed.
"We don't give you much time to yourself, between us. Do you mind?"
"Not in the least. I have only to say that I want to be on my own."
He brought the car to a gentle halt.
"Do you want to be on your own now?" he queried blandly.
She glanced at his dim profile, wondering if he was serious. She wasn't sure.
"No, thank you," she said meekly, playing safe.
"Good. Then I take it that we may hope for the pleasure of your company this
evening for dinner--there will be a few friends--the children stay up."
"Thank you. But what about Cor?"
"He'll have an endless stream of visitors. I'll make sure that he's not
lonely."
"He's very excited about Christmas--it's helped him to forget about his legs."
The Professor said quietly, "I think that it is you and not Christmas who
have helped him to do that. I have to thank you for your unfailing kindness
and devotion."
He swept the car between the gates and stopped at the little lodge.
"I
won't be a minute," he said, and was out of the car and up the narrow path,
to the little door, a package in his hand. Both Mr. and Mrs. Legg came to
his knock; Georgina could hear them exchanging Christmas greetings and then
the Professor's voice telling them to go indoors out of the cold. When he
got back to the car, he handed a neatly wrapped box and said, " Hold it
carefully, will you? It's Mrs. Legg's honey. We get a pot every Christmas
and it's something very special. "
He drove on through the trees to the house, where he said:
"Stay there a minute, will you? There's a great deal to take indoors."
He went round to the boot and presently opened her door.
"Do you mind taking a few things as you go?" The boot was full of parcels of
every shape and size; he filled her arms with the smallest of them and said,
"Go ahead, will you--Stephens will come out for the rest."
It was warm inside, and quiet, with a great fire burning steadily and the
lamps casting little shadows on the white walls. She put her parcels tidily
on one of the console tables and undid her coat.
Outside she could hear the murmur of men's voices, and presently Stephens
returned, followed by the Professor, who dropped an armful of packages into
the nearest chair.
"Have they had tea yet, Stephens?" he enquired. His butler deposited half a
dozen large boxes beside her own little pile.
"Ten minutes ago, sir. Milly shall bring up a fresh pot at once--unless you
would like tea in your study?"
The Professor was staring at Georgina, who, aware of it, absorbed herself in
the contemplation of a particularly fine arrangement of holly and gilded
cones which she herself had thought up only that morning.
"No--no, thank you," he said absently, and then, "Very attractive."
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" agreed Georgina. She took a couple of steps towards
the staircase, trying to think of some suitable way of taking her leave.
She stopped when he said, "You always wear uniform," in a tone of voice which
suggested that he had explained something.
"It's you who are attractive."
She went pink.
"I wear uniform by your wish," she reminded him.
"Er--yes, that is so," he replied, very mild.
"May I be allowed to forget that, just for this evening?" He smiled and her
heart bounced against her ribs.
"Will you not wear your prettiest dress?"
Georgina frowned.
"And supposing I haven't got a pretty dress here?"
she wanted to know, peevishly.
He looked taken aback, then looked at his watch.
"I should have thought of that, shouldn't I? There's still plenty of time to
run you up to St. Athel's to get whatever you want."
"It just so happens," said Georgina, still peevish, 'that I have a dress
here. "
Her frown became thunderous when she saw the smile tugging the corners of his
mouth.
"What are you smiling about?" she demanded. He made no answer at all but
walked over to her and kissed her, very lightly, upon one cheek. Thinking
about it
afterwards, which she did at great length, she was unable to
describe it in any other terms than avuncular. Unsatisfactory, but true.
By the time she had put on the green dress and put the last careful pin into
the complicated topknot of her hair, she was in a towering rage, although
uncertain as to whether it was with herself or the
Professor, and even more uncertain, as to its cause. She put on the new
velvet slippers, and with a last defiant spray of Rochas' Femme, over her
well- turned-out person, went into Cor's room. That young gentleman let out
an appreciative yell when he saw her--his spontaneous admiration doing much
to soothe her ragged nerves. The dress, she was aware, did something for
her; she hoped that it would strike Julius in the same light. If so, she
would have no regrets about the price she had paid for it, not for the fact
that she would be almost penniless until pay day.
She pirouetted before Cor and asked, "Will I do?"
He eyed her with the extravagant enthusiasm of a small boy.
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