Alix usually went over to the Rectory to work at her presents with Toppie. She was making a tea-cloth for Mrs. Bradley and embroidering monograms, that elicited Toppie’s admiration, on fine handkerchiefs for Ruth and Rosemary; and she had found the right books for the boys and a silver pencil for Giles. Toppie had a beautiful cushion for his chair at Oxford, and Toppie, too, had thought of Maman. Alix almost felt the tears rise to her eyes when she showed her the little frame of blue and silver she had embroidered enclosing a snapshot of Alix herself, standing at the edge of the wood with the dogs about her. She had not expected anyone to think of Maman. Maman, she knew, would not think of them. And then Christmas was different in France. But Maman, all the same, remembered that it was specially kept in England. It was on Christmas Day itself, and not on the _Nouvel An_ as Alix had expected, that the long parcel, brought over by a friend of Maman’s, arrived for her from Cannes. Already she had had more presents than ever before in her life. A toilet-set from Mrs. Bradley; a writing-case from Giles; a scarf from Ruth, and a pair of stockings from Rosemary; from Jack a neat penknife, and from Francis a box of small brightly coloured handkerchiefs that were obviously what a little boy would admire. All the distributions took place at the breakfast-table, and Maman’s parcel had not yet arrived when Alix unrolled from its tissue-paper Toppie’s gift, and saw, in a tiny box of faded leather, the beautiful little old brooch, an emerald surrounded by pearls. It made her think at once of the doves and the laurel wreath and of Toppie’s great-grandmother; of the past, brooded upon; never forgotten. She gazed at it in astonishment. “I _say_!” Ruth exclaimed. They had all crowded round her to look. “She used to wear that. It belonged to some ancestress. She must be most awfully fond of you to give it to you, Alix.” Alix met Giles’s eyes looking down at the brooch over their heads. She felt that she had gained in value for him from Toppie’s fondness. And it was after all this excitement that the post brought Maman’s box and that the many wrappings of tissue-paper disclosed the most exquisite of evening dresses; white taffeta; crisp, supple, silvery; girdled with small white roses and their green leaves. The little card pinned to the breast said: “_A ma chérie lointaine_.” “I never saw anything so lovely!” said Rosemary, and Alix felt a wave of warmth for Rosemary go through her. “It’s too beautiful,” said Mrs. Bradley. “She made it herself, I am sure,” said Alix. “It is wonderful how she makes these lovely things.” Giles was looking at her again. His look was different. It was as if her pride in Maman touched him as much as Toppie’s brooch had done. “It’s so much too pretty for anything you do here, isn’t it, dear,” said Mrs. Bradley. “I think we must have a little dance when Giles comes home for the Easter holidays, so that you can wear it.”