stboro' had asked, "_hate_ the holidays?"

The genial Bulstrode had assured him to the contrary.

"Nor do I," continued the Duke, "even though I'm a miserable man on the
verge of a divorce. I expect there's too long a line of jolly
Christmases back of the Westboro's for me to mope through the season.
But I don't want to have Christmas coming to an empty house, my dear
fellow"--He put it pathetically, "there's no one in this gloomy place
but yourself and myself. We must have a Christmas party. The tenants
will, of course, be noisy and cheerful, but I'm going to ask a lot of
people down and make the list out now."

And Bulstrode had, however, firmly insisted that he could not really
stop on--that he must go away. "There are," he wound up his arguments,
"a thousand reasons why I should go."

But Westboro' had comprehendingly suggested that they might together
bring "every reason" down to the country. "And," continued his Grace,
"we'll narrow things into the most intimate circle possible. For I
shall ask the Ravensworths of Surrey and their children, there are
eight of them, ripping little things; they used to play with my boys.
We'll turn them loose and have a tree, old man."

Jimmy watched his face with a keen pity, for there had not been one ray
of light in it as he planned for his celebration.

"But you arrange to come back for Christmas Eve. There _must_ be some
one in charge--I mean to say, some one so that if the whole thing is
too much for me, why I'll bolt and you'll have to stand by."

He was, as he spoke, writing the names on a sheet of paper. Bulstrode
felt the plan to be rather _triste_ and lifeless, and he knew that he
could not and would not keep the Duchess' secret much longer, let its
revelation cost him what it would.

"Westboro'," he said, "I shall have to be getting off to-morrow. You
know I would stand by you if I could possibly see my way clear."

"I know perfectly well," the Duke acknowledged, "what a rotten bore
I've been, and how sick of me you must be." He wrote on: "I shall ask
Mrs. Falconer (her husband is in the States); she is quite alone in
town at Lady Sorgham's." As he quoted this last name the Duke folded
his list up. He nodded affectionately at Jimmy. "You'll arrange
perhaps to come down with Mrs. Falconer on the Friday train?"

And Bulstrode capitulating weakly, murmured, "Oh, we'll fetch the toys
and things for the tree," he offered.

"Ripping!" his Grace nodded.