e again, Bella Madonna and little angel, come again. We shall pray
to see you next Christmas Day, Bella Madonna and little angel. Don't
forget, next Christmas Day."

* * * * *

"I'm perfectly happy, dearest," said Rosemary, when once more they sat
in the car, spinning back from the shaded eyrie to the fair world where
the sunshine lay.

The others did not speak, but the same thought was in their hearts.

When you are positively bursting with happiness the best outlet for the
surplus quantity is to benefit somebody else; and there is no time like
Christmas for a successful experiment.

"What else can we do for somebody?" asked Hugh.

"There's Jane," suggested Rosemary. "I told her this morning how I went
out and found a father, and she said Pooh, he was all in my eye; and
besides she'd never heard of fathers growing on blackberry bushes. But
if we bought her a present, and you gave it to her yourself, she'd have
to believe in you."

"I shan't feel I have a sure hold on existence until she does," said
Hugh. "Let's buy her something without the loss of a moment."

So they bought Jane a ring, which Rosemary chose herself after mature
deliberation, and with due regard to the recipient's somewhat pronounced
taste in colours.

"She admires red and green together more than anything," said the child,
"and I want her to have what she really likes, because if it hadn't been
for her I shouldn't have known Christmas Eve was the time to search for
fathers. Just supposing somebody else had gone out and snapped him up
instead of me!"

As a matter of fact somebody else had gone out, and had come very near
indeed to snapping him up; but there are things which do not bear
thinking of. It was Hugh's firm conviction that Destiny and not Jane,
had flung Rosemary in front of his motor; but Destiny could not be
rewarded and Jane could.

Rosemary would be satisfied with nothing less than a formal
presentation; and that the ceremony might be gone through without delay,
the car was directed towards the Condamine. As they neared the street of
the Hotel Pension Beau Soleil, a cab came jingling round the corner.

It was occupied by two ladies who sat half buried in travelling bags,
rugs, baskets, and shawl straps, such as women who are not of the Anglo
Saxon races love. A tiny motorphobe in the shape of a black Pomeranian
yapped viciously at the automobile as the vehicles passed each other;
and though th