Cecily hurried him at breakfast, too. She wanted to go over lists of Christmas presents with him, to plan the trimming of the tree. Christmas was day after to-morrow. She did not refer to the night before. He wondered with some irritation whether that was deliberate, and forced the opening of the subject. “Did you have a good ride last night?” “Wonderful. It rested me ever so much. I slept hard.” “I hope,” said Dick, “that you’ll try to keep a bit more fit. You ought to be in good enough condition to stand a few hours’ dancing. Don’t you think you need a tonic, perhaps?” It seemed very much off the point to Cecily. “I’d hate to have to take medicine so I could get myself to the point of dancing all night. Hardly worth while, is it?” “I’m not sure it isn’t.” She let that pass, and merely sat there answerless, looking hurt and cold. Dick got up. “I’ll meet you down town and we’ll finish our shopping. Five o’clock at my office.” “That’s fine.” He kissed her, wishing that she did not look so virtuous and hurt, that she would fly at him, get in the wrong somehow, and went out of the house whistling the tunes he had carried over from the night before. Cecily, conscious of a hundred things to do, sat still, and Ellen, passing through the room, looked at her commiseratingly. “Tired after last night, Mrs. Harrison?” “A little. Everybody’s much gayer than I am, Ellen. No one else seems to get tired.” “They don’t all have three children and go to dances.” “Don’t they? I wonder how they manage. Ellen, I’m going to have every one here to-morrow night for the tree--Mrs. Harrison, my mother and father, Mr. Gerald and Mr. Walter. Then we will carry the children down after the tree is lit.” “Won’t it be lovely?” Dorothea ran in, clamoring. The business of the day pressed on Cecily. She lost her over-serious mood of the night before, a little ashamed, as Matthew had understood she would be, that she had let her half-grown thoughts out so freely. Well, Matthew was not like other people. By the time she met Dick her day of activity had put her troubles into the background. She dressed rather carefully to go shopping with him and in her soft gray fur coat and hat, with a sprig of holly in her muff, she looked like an illustration for some Christmas story. Dick appreciated that. He was always proud of her. They sent the car on to meet them at the confectioner’s, and walked through the sparkling streets, gazing into windows. In the toyshops they were madly extravagant, though Cecily kept insisting that all the possible toys for the children were already bought. “They’ll smash and then they’ll have these,” said Dick. “These are my own contribution to the Christmas wreckage.”