It had been arranged that Denzil and his mother should spend Christmas with Amaryllis at Ardayre. Both felt that it was going to be the most wonderful moment when they should meet. There were no obstacles now to their happiness and everything promised to be full of joy. The months which had gone by since John's death had been turning Amaryllis into a more serene and forceful being. The whole burden of the estate had fallen upon her young shoulders and she had endeavoured to carry it with dignity and success--and yet have time to spare for her war organisations in the county. She had developed extraordinarily and had grown from a very pretty girl into a most beautiful young woman. What would Denzil think of her? That was her preoccupation--and what would he think of the baby Benedict? The great rooms at Ardayre were shut up except the green drawing room, and she lived in her own apartments, the cedar parlour being her chief pleasure. It was now filled with her books and all the personal belongings which expressed her taste. The nurseries for the heir were just above. Her guests were to be there on the twenty-third of December, and when the hour came for the motor to arrive from the station Amaryllis grew hot and cold with excitement. She had made herself look quite exquisite in a soft black frock, and her heart was beating almost to suffocation when she heard the footsteps in the hall. Then the green drawing room door opened and Colonel and Mrs. Ardayre were announced and were immediately greeted by the great tawny dogs and then by their mistress. A pang contracted her heart when she caught sight of Denzil--he was so very pale and thin, and he walked painfully and slowly with a stick. It was only a wreck of the splendid lover who had come to Ardayre before. But he was always Denzil of the ardent eyes and the crisp bronze hair! They were people of the world, and so the welcoming speeches went off easily, and they sat round the tea-table with its singing kettle and its delectable buns and Devonshire cream, and Amaryllis was gracious and radiant and full of dignity and charm. But inwardly she felt deliciously shy and happy. They had neither met nor written any love letters since the April day when they had parted in Brook Street, which now seemed to be an age away. Her attraction for Denzil had increased a hundredfold. He thought as she sat there pouring out the tea, of how he would woo her with subtlety before he would claim her for his own. He was stimulated by her sweet shyness and her tender aloofness. The tea seemed to him to be interminably long and he wished for it to end. Mrs. Ardayre behaved with admirable tact; she spoke of all sorts of light and friendly things, and then asked about the baby. Was he not wonderful, now at seven months old! The lovely vivid pink deepened in Amaryllis' smooth velvet cheeks, and her grey eyes became soft as a doe's.