"Alwynne," said Elsbeth, with scrupulous patience, "it was you who suggested not having one." "I know, I know, I know, I know!" cried Alwynne, in a fever. Elsbeth sighed. Alwynne repented. "Elsbeth darling, I didn't mean to be rude; I'm a beast. And I didn't mean it wasn't nice last year. I only meant--it would be--be a change to have some one--because of the turkey--and I thought, perhaps Clare----" "Can't you exist for a day without seeing Clare Hartill?" asked Elsbeth, with a wry smile. Alwynne dimpled. "Not very well," she said. Elsbeth stared at her plate. Alwynne edged her chair along the table, till she sat at Elsbeth's elbow. She slid an arm round her neck. "Elsbeth! Elsbeth, dear! You're not cross, Elsbeth? It's a very big turkey. Do, Elsbeth!" "Do what?" "Ask Clare. You like her, don't you?" No answer. "Don't you, Elsbeth?" Alwynne's tone was a little anxious. "Would you care if I didn't?" The pattern of her plate still interested Elsbeth. She was tracing its windings with her fork. "You silly--it would just spoil everything. That's just it--I would like to get you two fond of each other, only with Clare so busy there's never a chance of your really getting acquainted." "I knew Clare Hartill long before you did, Alwynne. I knew her as a schoolgirl." "But not well--not as I know her." "No, not as you know her." "There you are," said Alwynne, with satisfaction. "That's why--you don't know her properly. Oh, Elsbeth, you must share all my good things, and Clare's the very best of them. Do let her come." "She may be engaged; she probably is." "Oh, no--Clare will be alone--I know, because----" she stopped herself. Elsbeth questioned her with her eyes. "Oh, nothing--only I happen to know," said Alwynne. "Because?" Alwynne shook her head mischievously. "Oh, well, if you won't tell me----" began Elsbeth. "Oh, I will, I will," cried Alwynne hastily. "My dear, I don't want to know Miss Hartill's secrets, or yours either," said Elsbeth huffily. But to herself, "Why am I losing my temper over these silly trifles?" "Elsbeth dear, it was nothing. Only Clare did ask me to spend Christmas Day with her." "Well?" said Elsbeth jealously. "What?" asked Alwynne's ingenuous eyes. "Are you going?" Alwynne nestled up to her, humming with careful flatness the final bars of _Home, sweet home_. "Elsbeth, you old darling--I do believe you're jealous! Are you, Elsbeth? Are you?" "Are you going?" repeated Elsbeth. Alwynne was sobered by her tone. "I'm going to spend my Christmas Day in my own home, with my own Elsbeth," she said, "and I think you needn't have asked me." Elsbeth melted. "My dear, I'm a silly old woman----" "Yes, you tell me that once a week." "One day you'll believe it.--All right--you can ask your Miss Hartill--or shall I write?" Alwynne hugged her. "Elsbeth, you're an angel! I'll go round at once. Oh, it will be jolly." "If she comes."