Before beginning Massingale's letter she scanned anxiously the two unopened envelopes. What she had feared from the first nervous glance was a letter from Josh Nebbins. He had written her on her last birthday, and on the Christmas before--sentimental confident notes, the faith of a man who believes in the future. Each time she had determined definitely to announce the breaking of the engagement,--to her long since a thing of ridicule,--but she had delayed, mainly from cowardice, for fear that that persistent, terrible young hustler would come straight to New York. Lately she feared him at every turn, obsessed more and more in her dreams by his pursuing shadow. To her relief, no word had come from him. Perhaps he too had forgot, after all! She raised herself and glanced at the bed, where Lindaberry was still moving restlessly, but asleep. Then she opened Massingale's letter: "_My Lady-of-Dreams_: "Merry Christmas, and everything you can desire, even to impossible islands in southern seas! The bracelet I send you carries a talisman of good luck to keep you from an ugly world! I'll come for you at twelve, to tell your especial ear all the things that are too fragile to put on crude paper, and if the snow holds, as seems probable, we'll get a sleigh and go jingling off into the new world, and I'll promise solemnly to believe everything you wish me to believe, never once to say _acting_, to be entirely docile and joyfully credulous, for a whole twenty-four hours. "HIS HONOR." She glanced guiltily at the clock, amazed how completely Massingale had gone out of her thoughts. It was almost noon. She arose hastily to telephone. But at this moment the man in the bed moved and opened his eyes, which remained profoundly set on her halted figure, so luminous and young in the glowing golden Russian blouse in which she had first appeared to him. She paused, poised lightly on her toes, as he stared out at her incredulously, striving to collect his thoughts. "Dodo?" he said in a whisper, frowning before him. She came to his bedside, all else forgot, smiling, radiant. "Here I am!" Suddenly some confused streak of memory seemed to cross his brain, and immediately he said, weakness in his voice: "You--you ought not to be here!" "I am not alone," she said, sitting down; "there is a trained nurse in the other room." "I remember--last night--your coming suddenly. But--" "Hush, don't try to remember!" she said quietly. "Rest; sleep all you can!" He continued looking at her with great uncomprehending eyes. "What day is it?" he asked slowly. "Christmas." "Good God!" He turned his face away, horror-stricken and ashamed; but she, struck by the movement and the shudder that passed through his body, called to him gently: "Garry, I don't blame you. Look at me! No, don't turn away, please."