Wemyss, who made his plans first and talked about them afterwards, hadn't mentioned Christmas even to Lucy. It was his habit to settle what he wished to do, arrange all the details, and then, when everything was ready, inform those who were to take part. It hadn't occurred to him that over the Christmas question there would be trouble. He had naturally taken it for granted that he would spend Christmas with his little girl, and of course as he always spent it at The Willows she would spend it there too. All his arrangements were made, and the servants, who looked surprised, had been told to get the spare-rooms ready for two ladies. He had begun to feel seasonable as early as the first week in December, and had bespoken two big turkeys instead of one, because this was to be his first real Christmas at The Willows--Vera had been without the Christmas spirit--and he felt it couldn't be celebrated lavishly enough. Two where there had in previous years been one,--that was the turkeys; four where there had been two,---that was the plum puddings. He doubled everything. Doubling seemed the proper, even the symbolic expression of his feelings, for wasn't he soon going to be doubled himself? And how sweetly. Then suddenly, having finished his preparations and proceeding, the time being ripe, to the question of the day of arrival, he found himself up against opposition. Miss Entwhistle wouldn't go to The Willows--incredible, impossible, and insufferable,--while Lucy, instead of instantly insisting and joining with him in a compelling majority, sat as quiet as a mouse. 'But Lucy----' Wemyss having stared speechless at her aunt, turned to her. 'But of course we must spend Christmas together.' 'Oh yes,' said Lucy, leaning forward, 'of course----' 'But of course you must come down. Why, any other arrangement is unthinkable. My house is in the country, which is the proper place for Christmas, and it's your Everard's house, and you haven't seen it yet--why, I would have taken you down long ago, but I've been saving up for this.' 'We hoped,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'you would join us here.' 'Here! But there isn't room to swing a turkey here. I've ordered two, and each of them is twice too big to get through your front door.' 'Oh, Everard--have you actually ordered turkeys?' said Lucy. She wanted to laugh, but she also wanted to cry. His simplicity was too wonderful. In her eyes it set him apart from criticism and made him sacred, like the nimbus about the head of a saint.