“Don’t apologize, Major,” answered Winthrop, smilingly. “It has been six years, and I can speak of it now with some degree of equanimity. He was a great boy, that son of mine; sometimes I think that maybe the Lord was a little bit envious.” “The picture of you, sir,” said the Major, earnestly. “But your lady, sir? She is――ah――well, I trust?” “Quite, I believe,” answered Winthrop. “I am glad to hear it. I trust some day, sir, you’ll bring her down and give us the pleasure of meeting her.” “Thank you,” Winthrop replied, quietly. Holly began an eager conversation with Julian and the talk became general, the Major holding forth on the subject of Cuban affairs, which were compelling a good deal of attention in that winter of 1897–8. After dinner they went out to the porch, but not before the Major had, unnoticed, stationed himself at the dining-room door with a sprig of mistletoe in his hand. Holly and Julian reached the door together and with a portentous wink at Julian the Major held the little bunch of leaves and berries over Holly’s head. Winthrop, the last to leave the room, saw what followed. Julian imprisoned Holly’s hands in front of her, leaned across her shoulder and pressed a kiss on her cheek. There was a little cry of alarm from Holly, drowned by the Major’s chuckle and Julian’s triumphant laugh. Holly’s eyes caught sight of the mistletoe, the blood dyed her face, and she smiled uncertainly. [Illustration: THE MAJOR HELD THE LITTLE BUNCH OF LEAVES AND BERRIES OVER HOLLY’S HEAD] “He caught you, my dear,” chuckled the Major. “You’re a traitor, Uncle Major,” she answered, indignantly. With a quick gesture she seized the mistletoe from his grasp and threw it across the room. As she turned, her head in air, her eyes encountered Winthrop’s and their glances clung for an instant. He wondered afterwards what she had read in his eyes for her own grew large and startled ere the lids fell over them and she turned and ran out through the hall. The rest followed laughing. Winthrop ascended to his room, closed his door, lighted a pipe and sat down at an open window. From below came the sound of voices, rising and falling, and the harsh song of a red-bird in the magnolia-tree. From the back of the house came the sharp explosions of firecrackers, and Winthrop knew that Young Tom was beatifically happy. The firecrackers had been Winthrop’s “Chrismus gif.” But his thoughts didn’t remain long with the occupants of the porch or with Young Tom, although he strove to keep them there. There was something he must face, and so, tamping the tobacco down in his pipe with his finger, he faced it. He was in love with Holly.