"Oh, I would have found my way back," returned Bet, with a wise little nod of her head. "But I won't never do it again." And then her little arms went round his neck, and she rested her head against the rough grey coat; for her childish heart was full to the brim. "Miss Ward," observed Thorold, in rather a pleading voice, "as my sister is absent, may I ask you to pour out the tea." Then Waveney, blushing a little at the unexpected request, took her place quietly at the tea-tray. CHAPTER XXV. A WET NIGHT, AND A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. "I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!" _Merchant of Venice._ "Beggar I am, I am even poor in thanks." _Hamlet._ What a strange Christmas Eve it was! Waveney felt as though she were in a dream, as she sat there demurely pouring out the tea, with Betty beside her, counting the lumps of sugar in each cup. "Two for daddie, and one big one for Uncle Theo? Oh, that is not big enough, is it, Uncle Theo? And oh, dear!"--in a reproachful voice--"you did put in the milk first." "I shall know better next time," returned Waveney, smiling; and then she watched Betty spreading her father's toast with butter. The child's concentrated earnestness, her absorbed gravity, amused her; but Tristram evidently took it as a matter of course. What a cosy room it was! Waveney thought. The crimson curtains were drawn, and a bright fire burnt in both the fireplaces--an unwonted extravagance--in honour of Christmas Eve; the circle of easy-chairs round the farthest fireplace looked snug and inviting. Thorold did not talk much during tea-time--he left the conversation principally to his brother; but he often looked at the little figure that occupied Joanna's place. His fastidious eyes noticed the neat, dainty movements and the changes of expression on the bright, speaking face, and the lovely dimple when Waveney smiled or laughed. A man could hardly be dull with such a companion, he thought; and then, at some sudden suggestion, some overwhelming possibility, a dull flush rose to his temples, and he went to the window to inspect the weather. "I am sorry to say that it is still raining, Miss Ward," he said, quietly, "and I am afraid we are in for a wet night; but I will get you a cab----" "A cab!" interrupted Waveney, in a dismayed tone. "Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Chaytor, you must do nothing of the kind. I am as strong as a lion, and I never take cold--at least, scarcely ever. And what does a little rain matter?" "You are a Stoic," he returned, somewhat amused at this; but she seemed so horrified at his suggestion that he said no more--being a man of deeds, not words. So when Waveney took possession of an easy-chair, and Betty brought her her baby doll to admire, she felt comfortably convinced that she would be allowed her own way; but she had reckoned without her host.