e had been too quick in her judgment. In spite
of his firmness, Harold had suffered more than she, more than her
mother--ay, perhaps, more than Evie herself!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Despite the painful incidents of Evie's convalescence, Christmas was a
happy season at Erley Chase, for it had always been a tradition of the
household to make much of this festival, and Mrs Chester could not
bring herself to change her habits as the years advanced. Every twenty-
sixth of December Mr Chester would say solemnly, "This is the last
time! I cannot let you wear yourself out like this. When Christmas
cards have to be sent off by the hundred, and presents by the score, it
is time to call a halt, for what has been a pleasure becomes a burden.
Next year you drop these outside people, and think only of our immediate
circle," and Mrs Chester would murmur meekly, "Yes, dear; of course.
Just as you wish," and begin laying in stores for next Christmas at her
first visit to the January sales. There was a cupboard in one of the
spare rooms which was dedicated entirely to the keeping of presents, and
into it went all manner of nick-nacks which were picked up during the
year--bazaar gleanings, in the shape of cushions, cosies, and table-
cloths, relics of travel, and a hundred and one articles useful and
ornamental, which had been bought because they were so cheap, and it
really seemed wicked to leave them lying on the shop counter! When a
need arose, as when a birthday was suddenly remembered the day before it
fell due, or an anniversary suggested the propriety of a little
offering, it was the easiest thing in the world to poke about in the
cupboard until a suitable gift was discovered.

Laura Everett was much amused by this novel way of apportioning
presents, which was so strangely different from that practised at her
own home. When she was wheeled into the morning-room a few days before
Christmas, it was to find a small bazaar of fancy articles spread on
tables and sofas, while Mrs Chester sat checking off the names written
on a long sheet of paper, and Rhoda cried out: "Here's a yellow silk
cushion. Whom do we know who has got a complexion that can bear being
set off against a background of sulphur yellow?" ... "Here's a gorgeous
table centre, quite beautifully worked. Whom do we know who is old-
fashioned enough to use table centres still?" ... "Here's a piece of
Turkish embroidery, which wou