"Something nice, I hope! I want a distraction," said Esmeralda wistfully. She slid her hand through her husband's arm as they walked down the corridor and peered up in his face. "Somebody was rather vicious this afternoon! I'm sorry you put me in a temper. It's stupid to quarrel when we are so fond of one another. You'll never do it again, will you?" "Never, never! It was all my fault, and I apologise abjectly to your temper for taking liberties with it. I ought to know by this time that it's in delicate health. Never mind, I've planned a delightful programme for you! What would you like best for a Christmas present if you had the choice?" He was all radiant with smiles, but Esmeralda sighed, and a far-away expression came into her beautiful grey eyes. "I'd like--Oh, what's the use of speaking of it, Geoff? They can't come, and that's all about it! I haven't thought of any present. I don't seem to care about anything else." "Whisper!" cried Geoffrey triumphantly. "Whisper!" He bent his head, and Esmeralda put her ear to his lips, her face alight with expectation. "Oh!" she cried rapturously, and again, "Oh!" and "_Oh_" in ever- ascending tones of delight. "Do you mean it, Geoff--really--really? It's like a fairy-tale--so perfectly lovely and charming! I shan't sleep a wink--I know I shan't! Geoffrey, you darling, I do love you for thinking of it!" and in an ecstasy of delight she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him rapturously. "Any letters for the post, madam?" asked an even voice from the end of the corridor, and the husband wrenched himself free, while the wife stared after the departing figure with gloomy eyes. "He saw me kiss you! The only marvel is he didn't offer to do it for me. The strain of behaving properly before that man will be the death of me, Geoffrey Hilliard!" CHAPTER EIGHT. A SURPRISE VISIT. The next two days Jack came home early from the city, where a remarkable cessation of work had happened simultaneously with the arrival of Miss Sylvia Trevor at Number Three, Rutland Road. Bridgie trotted about the house preparing for the festival on Thursday, and Sylvia lay idly upon the couch, with nothing better to do than to listen, sympathise, and admire.