"Fine," she said. "Just what I wanted." She waited for a repetition of "That's not all," but Charles said only, "I didn't know what you would like." She glanced up quickly. He was teasing her--they had joked about useful gifts. But he had picked up a book. The red cover blurred before Catherine's eyes. He was pulling his chair up to the table light. The stockings clung to her finger tips, as if her bewilderment electrified them. Mrs. O'Lay, lumbering through the hall to the kitchen, stopped at the door in loud admiration of the tree. * * * * * Margaret and Mrs. Spencer were coming in for early dinner. Catherine flung herself into a numbing round of preparations. Whatever it meant, the day shouldn't be spoiled for the children. Whatever it meant--he couldn't have forgotten the bag. She had seen it there. She remembered his sharp inquiry, as she reached to the shelf. Perhaps her mother had hidden it, or Margaret. No, he knew about it. A sickening wave of suspicion curled through her, so that she straightened from her odorous dish of onions, browning for the dressing. It's his gift, to some one else. The wave subsided, leaving a line of wreckage--and certainty. Funny, how you catch a second wind, when you are knocked out, thought Catherine, as the day wound along. No one even guessed. The children were amazingly good. Even Letty went peacefully to her nap, after a few moments of wracking indecision as to which new toy should accompany her. Margaret left early, for a Christmas party somewhere. Catherine and her mother stood in her room, Mrs. Spencer adjusting her veil at the mirror. They were going out for a Christmas walk with Spencer and Marian, leaving Mrs. O'Lay in charge. Catherine heard a cautious step in the hall. She did not move. But she knew when the feet stopped at the closet door; she heard the faint scrape of pasteboard on the shelf. "I'm going over to the office." Charles stopped at the door. "I'll probably be home before you are." "Poor fellow!" Mrs. Spencer cajoled him, her hands patting her sleek gloves into place. "Must you work even on Christmas Day?" "Just a few odds and ends of work." Charles looked uneasy. But he nodded, and presently the hall door closed after him. PART IV ENCOUNTER I "Dr. Gilbert will be in immediately." The neat little office nurse ushered Catherine into the living room. "She left word for tea at five." Catherine said she would wait. The nurse bent down to touch a match to the gas log, and tiny blue flames leaped in mechanical imitation of a hearth fire. Catherine stood at the window, drawing off her gloves. The buildings between the hotel and the corner of the Avenue had been demolished since her last visit; beneath the windows gaped a huge chasm, rocky, pitted with pools of dark water, angled with cranes and derricks,--like a fairy tale, thought Catherine, and the old witch froze them into immobility with her stick, her stick being a holiday.