crying just now--because you had nowhere to go.
And you would have gone away this morning, and said nothing, and sat
alone in your rooms... I call it _mean_! Talk of the spirit of
Christmas! It's an insult to me and to mother. How do you suppose we
should have felt if we'd found out _afterwards_?"

"W-what else could I do? How could I tell you?" stammered Claire,
blushing. "It would have seemed such a barefaced _hint_, and I detest
hints. And really why should you have felt bad? I'm a stranger.
You've only seen me once. There could be no blame on you. There's no
blame on anyone. It just happens that it doesn't quite fit in to visit
friends at a distance, and in town--well! I'm a stranger, you see. I
_have_ no friends!"

Janet set her lips.

"Just as a matter of curiosity I should like to know exactly what you
_were_ going to do? You said, I believe, that you were going out. And
now you say you had nowhere to go. Both statements can't be true--"

"Oh, yes, they can. I have nowhere to go, but I had to find somewhere,
because my good landlady is going to her mother's at Highgate, and
disapproves of lodgers who stay in on Christmas Day. She gave me notice
that I must go out as the house would be locked up."

"But where--what--where _could_ you go?"

"I thought of a restaurant and a concert, and a station waiting-room to
fill in the gaps. Quite comfortable, you know. They have lovely fires,
and with a nice book--"

"If you don't stop this minute I shall begin to cry--here, in the open
street!" cried Janet hotly. "Oh, you poor dear, you poor dear! A
station waiting-room. I never heard of anything so piteous. Oh, how
thankful I am that I met you! Tell me honestly, was it about that that
you were crying?"

"Y-yes, it was. I was saying a little prayer and trying not to feel
lonesome, and then I looked round and saw--you."

"End of volume one!" cried Janet briskly. "No more waiting-rooms, my
dear. You must come to us for the whole of Christmas Day. I wish I
could ask you to stay, but we are chock-a-block with cousins and aunts.
I'll come round in my car in time to take you to church, and send you
back at night after the Highgate revels are over. We can't offer you
anything very exciting, I'm afraid--just an old-fashioned homey
gathering."

"It's just what I want. I am thirsty for a home; but your mother--what
will she say? Will she care for a stranger--"

"Mother says what I say," Ja