As to the young man, he went to church on that Christmas Day although he had no previous idea of doing so. He did not dare even to say to himself that his object was to see the Misses Heathcote. But he looked very hard at both girls as they walked up the aisle of the church, accompanied by Mrs Fortescue. Even in her plain school dress, Florence had an air of distinction, and Brenda looked quiet and charming. Michael Reid felt his heart beating quite agreeably. His father's advice, after all, was sound. If he could secure a wife who had four, five, six, or seven hundred a year--and, of course, there was a great likelihood that she would have much more--why, his fortune would be made. Florence had seen no other man as yet, but she had a schoolgirl friendship for him. Now was his opportunity. He would strike while the iron was hot. Accordingly, in the course of the afternoon, as he and his father were pacing up and down in the sheltered corner by the laurel hedge beside the Major's old house, Michael linked his hand within the old man's arm, and said-- "If you will allow me to manage things my own way, and will not appear in the very least to interfere; why--I--I will do my best." "Thank you, my boy. I knew you would," said the Major. "God bless you, my son; and God grant you success." Michael did not think it necessary to reply to these remarks, which were really uttered as a matter of course; but he went upstairs early to his bedroom, and took great care in selecting the white tie he would wear with his dinner suit that evening. Instead of the morsel of mistletoe, which was considered the correct thing among the young ladies at Langdale for the gentlemen to wear at the Arbuthnots' dinner parties, he went out and purchased a rose. He paid a shilling for a rose with a bud attached, and put it with care into his button-hole. When he had finished dressing, he surveyed himself in the glass with great satisfaction. He was a good-looking fellow, and might, he thought, attract the admiration and affection of any girl. He tried hard to remember what colour Florence's eyes were; but hers was an evasive face, which baffled inquiry. It was full of subtle changes. The eyes looked brown one moment, green the next; and then again a careful observer would swear that they were grey. But they had a story in them at all times. So Michael thought to himself. He thought that to compare them to the stars of heaven would be a happy metaphor, and that he might use it with effect that evening. He hoped the night would be fine, so that they could go out between the dances. They always danced at Colonel Arbuthnot's on Christmas night. When dinner was cleared away, the tables were pushed to one side, and the polished floor left ready for the tread of the dancers.