and drew his
face down to hers. "Are you going to let me love you a little, Bartley?"
she whispered.

CHAPTER V

It was the afternoon of the day before Christmas. Mrs. Alexander had
been driving about all the morning, leaving presents at the houses of
her friends. She lunched alone, and as she rose from the table she spoke
to the butler: "Thomas, I am going down to the kitchen now to see Norah.
In half an hour you are to bring the greens up from the cellar and put
them in the library. Mr. Alexander will be home at three to hang them
himself. Don't forget the stepladder, and plenty of tacks and
string. You may bring the azaleas upstairs. Take the white one to Mr.
Alexander's study. Put the two pink ones in this room, and the red one
in the drawing-room."

A little before three o'clock Mrs. Alexander went into the library to
see that everything was ready. She pulled the window shades high, for
the weather was dark and stormy, and there was little light, even in
the streets. A foot of snow had fallen during the morning, and the wide
space over the river was thick with flying flakes that fell and wreathed
the masses of floating ice. Winifred was standing by the window when
she heard the front door open. She hurried to the hall as Alexander came
stamping in, covered with snow. He kissed her joyfully and brushed away
the snow that fell on her hair.

"I wish I had asked you to meet me at the office and walk home with me,
Winifred. The Common is beautiful. The boys have swept the snow off the
pond and are skating furiously. Did the cyclamens come?"

"An hour ago. What splendid ones! But aren't you frightfully
extravagant?"

"Not for Christmas-time. I'll go upstairs and change my coat. I shall be
down in a moment. Tell Thomas to get everything ready."

When Alexander reappeared, he took his wife's arm and went with her into
the library. "When did the azaleas get here? Thomas has got the white
one in my room."

"I told him to put it there."

"But, I say, it's much the finest of the lot!"

"That's why I had it put there. There is too much color in that room for
a red one, you know."

Bartley began to sort the greens. "It looks very splendid there, but I
feel piggish to have it. However, we really spend more time there than
anywhere else in the house. Will you hand me the holly?"

He climbed up the stepladder, which creaked under his weight, and
began to twist the tough stems of the holly into the frame-work o