"By the way," said Mr. Worthington, "you will pardon my saying it, but Glyn seems to be rather left out in the cold. All the details of this Christmas festival have been settled without him." "And far better so. He knows our plan, and has promised to look in and help to amuse the folk, if needful." "Which will not be the case. You have devised a programme which will give Little Cray folk enough to talk of till Christmas comes again. But what is he going to do with himself at dinner-time? Surely he will not be left to spend that hour in solitude? I should have asked him, only we are all coming to you, and I thought—" "I thought his sister was coming." "She is not." And again the story of Arthur's letter and its contents is told, by a friend's tongue this time. "Well, to say the truth, I did not want Glyn to be engaged to me, in case a more congenial invitation should reach him. I may be a disappointed man, you know," and the grimace which accompanied this remark made Mr. Worthington burst into a hearty laugh, "but I am no dog in the manger." It was a favourite notion with Roger Ulyett to air his hopeless admiration of Miss Spencer in the presence of his sympathetic friend, Mr. Worthington. Not that Roger Ulyett had ever made a formal proposal for the hand of Anna Spencer, for, as he told the rector, he was resolved to do nothing that would close the doors of Cray Holm against him. If he could not win the fair young mistress, he should like to see her and touch her hand as a faithful friend. "Men know they cannot reach the sun, but they like to bask in its warm rays," he said. The rector laughed at this speech, and replied, "A truce to your joking. You know this sentimental talk is only meant in fun. You never had a serious thought of Anna Spencer." "I never asked for her, for the excellent reason that she would have said 'No,' and would have been in the right to say it. But she is a gem of a girl, and if she only make a wise choice, Roger Ulyett will be the first to pray, 'May God bless her, and make her very happy with him ever after!'" Mr. Worthington noted the unusually deep feeling with which Mr. Ulyett spoke. All the sharp, sarcastic ring had left his voice; the keen glance of his dark eyes softened into positive tenderness, and a phase of character rarely exhibited by him was laid bare to the rector's astonished gaze. But his host only paused for an instant, and was his old self again. "It takes a fairly wise man, Worthington, to find out that he is an old fool. Happily for me, I made the discovery, and took myself to task for it instead of indulging the world with a laugh at my expense. But, old cynic as people think me, I have a soft place in my heart. One article of faith with me is that 'true love ever desires first the happiness of the beloved object. It cannot be true or worthy of the name if its first aim is self-pleasing.'" The rector nodded approvingly.