"It's the effect," said she, "of being brought into contact with something terribly painful and repulsive, the effect of intense suffering--of unbearable disgust." He listened with his thoughtful, interested air. "I know. The effect that your friend Canon Wharton sometimes has on me." "I see no resemblance between Canon Wharton and your friend Mr. Gorst." "And I see no resemblance between my friend Mr. Gorst and Canon Wharton." She was silent, gathering all her strength to deliver her spirit's last appeal. "Dear," said she (for she wished to be very gentle with him, since he had thought her hard), "dear, I wonder if you ever realise what the thing we call--purity is?" He blushed violently. "I only know it's one of those things one doesn't speak about." "I must speak," said she. "You needn't," he said curtly; "I understand all right." "If you did you wouldn't ask me. All the same, Walter--" She lifted to him the set face of a saint surrendered to the torture--"If you compel me--" "Compel you? I can't compel you. Especially if you're going to look like that." "It's no use," he said to Edith. "First she talks of dining with the Gardners--" "She will, too--" "No. She'll stay--if I compel her." "Oh, I see. That's worse. She'd let him see it. He wouldn't enjoy his Christmas if he came." "No, poor fellow, I really don't think he would. She's awfully funny about him." "You still think her funny?" "My dear--it's the only way to take her. I'm sorry, but I can't let Charlie spoil her Christmas; nor," he added, "Anne his." So Mr. Gorst did not come to Prior Street that Christmas. There came instead of him whole sheaves and stacks of flowers, Christmas roses and white lilies, the sacred flowers which, at that festival, the poor prodigal brought as his tribute to his adored and beloved lady. He spent the greater part of his Christmas Day in the society of Mr. Dick Ransome, and the greater part of his Christmas Night in the society of pretty Maggie Forrest, the new girl in Evans's shop who had sold him the Christmas roses and the lilies. "For," said he, "if I can't go and see Edie, I'll go and see Maggie." And he enjoyed seeing Maggie as much as it was possible to enjoy anything that was not seeing Edie. And Edie lay among her Christmas roses and her lilies, and smiled, with a high courage, at Nanna, at Majendie, and Anne; and did her best to make everybody believe that she was having a very happy Christmas. But at night, when it was all over, Majendie held a tremulous and tearful Edie in his arms. "Don't think me a brute, darling," he said. "I would have insisted, only if he'd come to-day he'd have found out he wasn't wanted." "I know; and he never would have come again." He didn't come. For Canon Wharton enlightened Mrs. Hannay, and Mrs. Hannay enlightened Mr. Hannay, and Mr. Hannay enlightened Mr. Gorst. "Of course," said the prodigal, "if she walks out of the house when I walk into it, I can't very well go."