Miriam lost threads while Christine cleared away supper, pondering the thick expressionless figure and hands and the heavy sallow sullen face. She was very short. The Brooms watched her undisturbed, from their places by the fire, now and again addressing instructions in low frowning voices from the midst of conversation--_Do_ sit down said Mrs. Philps at intervals--I've been sitting down all day said Miriam swaying on her toes--I think we _did_ half believe it she pursued with biting heartiness, aching with the onset of questions, speaking to make warmth and distraction for Christine. She had never thought about it. _Had_ they half believed it? Had anyone ever put it to them in so many words? Giving an opinion opened so many things. It was impossible to show everything, the more opinions you expressed the more you misled people and the further you got away from them--Because she continued with a singing animation; Christine glanced;--we never heard anyone come in--although--(the room enclosed her even more happily with Christine there, everything looked even more itself)--we stayed awake till what seemed almost morning, always till long after the ser-m- our domestic staff had gone to bed. Their rooms were on the same floor as the night nursery--Christine was padding out with a tray, her back to the room; she had a holiday every year and regular off times and plenty of money to buy clothes and presents; probably she had some sort of home. When she had taken away the last of the supper things and closed the door Grace patted the arm of the vacant armchair. I like this best, said Miriam drawing up a little carved wooden stool--oh _don't_ sit on that cried Mrs. Philps.--I'm all right said Miriam hurriedly, looking at no one and drawing herself briskly upright with her eyes on the clear blaze. Grace and Florrie were close on either side of her in straight chairs, leaning forward towards the fire. Mrs. Philps sat back in the smaller of the armchairs, its unyielding cushion sending her body forward, her small chest crouched, her head bent and propped on her hand, half facing their close row and gazing into the fire. There was a silence. Florrie cleared her throat and glanced at Miriam. Miriam half turned with weary resentment.--Did you used to hang up stockings Miriam said Florrie quickly. Miriam assented hastily, staring at the fire. Florrie patiently cleared her throat. With weary animation Miriam dropped phrases about the parcels that were too big for the stocking, the feeling of them against one's feet when one moved in the morning. Shy watchful glances came to her from Florrie. Grace took her hand and made encouraging sympathetic sounds. How secure they were, sitting with all the holiday ahead over the fire which would be lit again for them in the morning. This was only the fag-end of the first evening and it was beginning to be like the beginning of a new day. Things were coming to