their friends. A house like this
throws its warmth out. I felt it distinctly as I was coming through
the Berkshires. I could scarcely believe that I was to see Mrs. Bartley
again so soon."

"Thank you, Wilson. She'll be as glad to see you. Shall we have tea now?
I'll ring for Thomas to clear away this litter. Winifred says I always
wreck the house when I try to do anything. Do you know, I am quite
tired. Looks as if I were not used to work, doesn't it?" Alexander
laughed and dropped into a chair. "You know, I'm sailing the day after
New Year's."

"Again? Why, you've been over twice since I was here in the spring,
haven't you?"

"Oh, I was in London about ten days in the summer. Went to escape the
hot weather more than anything else. I shan't be gone more than a month
this time. Winifred and I have been up in Canada for most of the autumn.
That Moorlock Bridge is on my back all the time. I never had so much
trouble with a job before." Alexander moved about restlessly and fell to
poking the fire.

"Haven't I seen in the papers that there is some trouble about a
tidewater bridge of yours in New Jersey?"

"Oh, that doesn't amount to anything. It's held up by a steel strike. A
bother, of course, but the sort of thing one is always having to put up
with. But the Moorlock Bridge is a continual anxiety. You see, the truth
is, we are having to build pretty well to the strain limit up there.
They've crowded me too much on the cost. It's all very well if
everything goes well, but these estimates have never been used for
anything of such length before. However, there's nothing to be done.
They hold me to the scale I've used in shorter bridges. The last thing a
bridge commission cares about is the kind of bridge you build."

When Bartley had finished dressing for dinner he went into his study,
where he found his wife arranging flowers on his writing-table.

"These pink roses just came from Mrs. Hastings," she said, smiling, "and
I am sure she meant them for you."

Bartley looked about with an air of satisfaction at the greens and the
wreaths in the windows. "Have you a moment, Winifred? I have just now
been thinking that this is our twelfth Christmas. Can you realize it?"
He went up to the table and took her hands away from the flowers, drying
them with his pocket handkerchief. "They've been awfully happy ones, all
of them, haven't they?" He took her in his arms and bent back, lifting
her a little and giving her a long