_Naturally it is the dining room--consecrated as it is to the distinguishing orgie of the season--which bears the brunt of what an English household knows as Christmas decorations. They consist chiefly of the branches of holly (that unyielding tree), stuck cock-eyed behind the top edges of the pictures. The one picture conspicuously not decorated is that which now hangs over the fireplace, a portrait of_ MR. VOYSEY, _with its new gilt frame and its brassplate marking it also as a presentation_. HONOR, _hastily and at some bodily peril, pulled down the large bunch of mistletoe, which a callous housemaid had suspended above it, in time to obviate the shock to family feelings which such impropriety would cause. Otherwise the only difference between the dining room's appearance at half past nine on Christmas eve and on any other evening in the year is that little piles of queer shaped envelopes seem to be lying about, while there is quite a lot of tissue paper and string to be seen peeping from odd corners. The electric light is reduced to one bulb, but when the maid opens the door showing in_ MR. GEORGE BOOTH _she switches on the rest_. PHOEBE. This room is empty, sir. I'll tell Mr. Edward. _She leaves him to fidget towards the fireplace and back, not removing his comforter or his coat, scarcely turning down the collar, screwing his cap in his hands. In a very short time_ EDWARD _comes in, shutting the door and taking stock of the visitor before he speaks_. EDWARD. Well? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_feebly._] I hope my excuse for not coming to dinner was acceptable. I did have . . I have a very bad headache. EDWARD. I daresay they believed it. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I have come immediately to tell you of my decision . . perhaps this trouble will then be a little more off my mind. EDWARD. What is it? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I couldn't think the matter out alone. I went this afternoon to talk it all over with my old friend Colpus. [_at this news_ EDWARD'S _eyebrows contract and then rise_.] What a terrible shock to him! EDWARD. Oh, nearly three of his four thousand pounds are quite safe. MR. GEORGE BOOTH. That you and your father . . you, whom he baptised . . should have robbed him! I never saw a man so utterly prostrate with grief. That it should have been your father! And his poor wife! . . though she never got on with your father. EDWARD. [_with cheerful irony._] Oh, Mrs. Colpus knows too, does she? MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Of course he told Mrs. Colpus. This is an unfortunate time for the storm to break on him. What with Christmas Day and Sunday following so close they're as busy as can be. He has resolved that during this season of peace and goodwill he must put the matter from him if he can. But once Christmas is over . . ! [_he envisages the Christian old vicar giving_ EDWARD _a hell of a time then_.]