Philps--Oh, I don't _know_ aunt, I think you _do_ appealed Grace, her eyes full of shy championship.--I'm very happy, thank you,--aren't we all happy dear brethren? chirped Miriam towards the cruet-stand.--Silly children----Now aunt you _know_ you are. You know you enjoy life tremendously.--Of course I do cried Mrs. Philps beaming and bridling. In a devout low tone she added--it's the little simple things that make you happy; the things that happen every day--For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the fire flickering in the beamy air.--Hadn't we better have her _in_ aunt, muttered Grace? Florrie got up briskly and rang the bell. 6 They all went busily upstairs. Even Grace did not linger.--Let me come and help make my bed said Miriam going with her to the door--No, you're to rest----I don't want to rest----Then you can run round the room--She turned back towards the silent disarray. Busy sounds came from upstairs. A hurried low reproving voice emerged on to the landing ...--and light the drawing-room fire as soon as you've finished clearing and when the postman comes leave the letters in the _box_--Christine came downstairs without answering. In a moment she would be coming in. Moving away from the attraction of the blouse Miriam wandered to the fireside. Her eyes turned towards the chair in the corner half-hidden by the large armchair. There they were, on the top of the pile of newspapers and magazines. Dare's Annual lay uppermost its cover bright with holly. Her hands went out ... to look at them now would be to anticipate the afternoon. But there would be at least two Windsors that she had not seen. She drew one out and stood turning over the leaves. It would be impossible to look round and say a Happy Christmas and then go on reading, and just as bad to stop reading and not say anything more. She planted herself in the middle of the hearthrug with her face to the room. Why should she stand advantageously there while Christine unwillingly laboured? Why should Christine be pleased to be spoken to? She thought a happy Christmas in several different voices. They all sounded insulting. Christine was still making noises in the kitchen. There was time to escape. The drawing-room door would be bolted and that meant getting one of the hall chairs and telling the whole house of an extraordinary impulse. Upstairs her bed would still be being made or her room dusted. She drew up the little stool and sat dejectedly, close over the fire as if with a heavy cold in her head and anxiously deep in the pages of the magazine. Perhaps Christine would think she did not hear her come in ... she guessed the story from the illustrations and dropped into the text half-way through the narrative. No woman who did typewriting from morning till night and lived in a poor lodging could look like that ... perhaps some did ... perhaps that was how clerks _ought_ to look ... she skimmed on; moving automatically to make room