“You still think her funny?”

“My dear—­it’s the only way to take her.  I’m sorry, but I can’t let Charlie spoil her Christmas; nor,” he added, “Anne his.”

So Mr. Gorst did not come to Prior Street that Christmas.  There came instead of him whole sheaves and stacks of flowers, Christmas roses and white lilies, the sacred flowers which, at that festival, the poor prodigal brought as his tribute to his adored and beloved lady.

He spent the greater part of his Christmas Day in the society of Mr. Dick Ransome, and the greater part of his Christmas Night in the society of pretty Maggie Forrest, the new girl in Evans’s shop who had sold him the Christmas roses and the lilies.  “For,” said he, “if I can’t go and see Edie, I’ll go and see Maggie.”  And he enjoyed seeing Maggie as much as it was possible to enjoy anything that was not seeing Edie.

And Edie lay among her Christmas roses and her lilies, and smiled, with a high courage, at Nanna, at Majendie, and Anne; and did her best to make everybody believe that she was having a very happy Christmas.  But at night, when it was all over, Majendie held a tremulous and tearful Edie in his arms.

“Don’t think me a brute, darling,” he said.  “I would have insisted, only if he’d come to-day he’d have found out he wasn’t wanted.”

“I know; and he never would have come again.”

He didn’t come.  For Canon Wharton enlightened Mrs. Hannay, and Mrs. Hannay enlightened Mr. Hannay, and Mr. Hannay enlightened Mr. Gorst.

“Of course,” said the prodigal, “if she walks out of the house when I walk into it, I can’t very well go.”

“Well, not at present, perhaps, for the sake of peace,” said Hannay.  “It strikes me poor old Majendie’s in a pretty tight place with that wife of his.”

So, for the sake of peace, Mr. Gorst kept away from Prior Street and his Edie, and spent a great deal of time in Evans’s shop, cultivating the attention of Miss Forrest.

And, for the sake of peace, Majendie kept silence, and his sister concealed her trembling and her tears.

CHAPTER XVII

Gloom fell on the house in Prior Street in the weeks that followed Christmas.  The very servants went heavily in the shadow of it.  Anne began to have her bad headaches again.  Deep lines of worry showed on Majendie’s face.  And on her couch by the window, looking on the blackened winter garden, Edith fought day after day a losing battle with her spine.

The slow disease that held her captive there seemed to be quickening its pace.  In January there came a whole procession of bad nights, without, as she pathetically said, “anything to show for it,” for her hands could make nothing now.  She lay flatter than ever; each day she seemed to sink deeper into her couch.