"Jack, of course. He'll look too sweet," said Jack's proud mother. "Can't you imagine him, sitting up in bed with his curls peeping out beneath his bandages--he must have bandages--smiling like a little angel! He'd bring down the house. The people would love to see him." Then for the first time Geoffrey spoke. So far he had listened to the conversation in a silence which both his wife and sister-in-law felt to be disappointingly unsympathetic. Now his objections were put into words-- "Isn't Jack rather young and--er--sensitive for such a public role? I should have thought that your concert would be complete without troubling about a tableau. In any case, there are plenty of village children." "Not with Jack's face. He is sensitive, of course, but he's not shy; he'd enjoy the excitement. And we should be there; he could come to no harm." "And the evening performance? Would you propose that he sat up for that also?" Joan pressed her lips together in the struggle for patience. Really Geoffrey was too bad! What did he mean? What did he want? The whole scheme had been planned to give him pleasure, and here he was, silent, disapproving, throwing cold water. The effort at restraint made her voice sound unnatural even in her own ears. "If we had the tableau in the afternoon, it would hardly do to leave it out in the evening--the only time when the villagers themselves will be able to be present." Before Geoffrey could reply the heel of Pixie's shoe pressed firmly on his foot beneath the table, and a warning glance silenced his words. A moment later, when the discussion of pros and cons waxed loud at the far end of the table, she whispered an explanation-- "Don't object, don't argue. It's to _please you_! You said she had taken no trouble." Geoffrey Hilliard's glance of comprehension had in it more of weariness than elation. Pixie noting the fact, felt a rising of irritation, and mentally dubbed him ungracious and unreasonable, as Esmeralda had done before her. Both failed to appreciate the fact that sudden spasms of energy were by no means an innovation in the family history, and what the tired man was really longing for was that ordered peace and tranquillity which form the English idea of home. He made no further objections, however, and Joan threw herself whole-heartedly into her preparations, determined on a success which must win approval as by a _tour de force_. The three days following were far from peaceful, but if the master of the house kept aloof from the stir and bustle, his guests threw themselves into it with every appearance of enjoyment. Strains of music sounded from the drawing-room and mingled with the tap-tapping of hammers from an upper room where realistic scenery was being manufactured under Joan's able supervision. The new system of thoroughness demanded, moreover, that the stored-up cases should be opened, and the contents unpacked, dusted, and re-priced, a work in itself of many hours.