III.

The Joneses were having breakfast—porridge, bacon, toast and marmalade. Stephen liked order, even in his breakfast. Afterwards he departed upstairs, and Betty sat in silence, wondering how she could bear to look at the hateful picture again. She heard him open the wardrobe door—then a silence—then his footstep upon the stairs. She wanted to rush out into the street. Instead, she remained glued to her chair, staring at a slice of toast. “Happy Christmas, my dear!” Stephen was leaning page 52 page 53 across the table, and in his hands was the flat parcel—that awful, tragic parcel.

Betty smiled sweetly. “Thanks, Stephen,” she said; and began very slowly to undo the string and peel off the wrappings which screened the bleak landscape and the sleek cows from her eyes. Stephen hovered about, watching her furtively, his eyes beaming with good humour and a certain kindly tolerance.

The last wrapper undone, Betty found a flat cardboard box which she hadn't noticed before. Lifting the lid reluctantly she saw—not the cows grazing—but a heap of diaphanous chiffon, fragrant and beautiful. Then an extraordinary thing happened. Stephen saw his wife's curly head go down upon the table, heard a little despairing cry of “Stephen, my dear!”

Mr. and Mrs. Jones often laugh about the picture, which, by the way, he had bought for his brother. The spade is one of Stephen's most precious possessions, and though the chiffon frock is worn out, Betty, because she is still a romantic little thing, keeps it carefully hidden away. It reminds her of Christmas.