“Of course it does,” said Aubrey sympathetically.  “Beastly hard lines.  Well?  Helen says ’Ronald’—?”

Ronnie’s eyes sought the paper again; but once more the black spots danced in a wild shower.  He rubbed his eyes and went on reading.

“’Ronald, I shall have something to tell you when you get home, which will make a great difference to this Christmas, and to all Christmas-times to come.  I will not put it into a letter.  I will wait until you are here, and I can say it.’”

“What can it be?” questioned Aubrey.

“Oh, I know,” said Ronnie, unsteadily—­the floor was becoming soft and sandy again.  “I have heard it all before.  She always thinks me extravagant at Christmas, and objects to her old people being given champagne and other seasonable good things.  I have heard—­heard it—­all before.  There was no need to write about it.  And when she—­when she says it, I shall jolly well tell her that a—­that a—­a fellow can do as he likes with his own earnings.”

“I should,” said Aubrey Treherne.

Ronald went on reading, in silence.

Aubrey’s eye was upon the folded sheet of paper on the floor.

Suddenly Ronnie said:  “Hullo!  I’m to have it after all!  Listen to this.  ’P.S.—­On second thoughts, now you are so nearly home, I would rather you knew what I have to say, before your return; so I am enclosing with this a pencil note I wrote some weeks ago. Ronnie, we will have a Christmas-tree this Christmas.’  Well, I never!” said Ronnie.  “That’s not a very wild thing in the way of extravagance, is it?  But it’s a concession.  I have wanted a Christmas-tree each Christmas.  But Helen said you couldn’t have a Christmas-tree in a home where there were no kids; it was absurd for two grownup people to give each other a Christmas-tree.  Now, where is—­” He began searching in the empty envelope.

With a quick stealthy movement, Aubrey put his foot upon the note.

“It is not here,” said Ronnie, shaking out the thin sheets one by one, and tearing open the envelope.  “She has forgotten it, after all.  Well—­I should think it will keep.  It can hardly have been important.”

“Evidently,” remarked Aubrey, “third thoughts followed second thoughts.  Even Helen would scarcely put a lecture on economy into a welcome-home letter.”

“No, of course not,” agreed Ronnie, and walked unsteadily to his chair.

Aubrey, stooping, transferred the note from beneath his foot to his pocket.

Ronald read his letter through again, then turned to Aubrey.

“Look here,” he said.  “I must send a wire.  Helen wants to know whether I wish her to meet me in town, or whether I would rather she waited for me at home.  What shall I say?”

Aubrey Treherne rose.  “Think it over,” he said, “while I fetch a form.”

He left the room.

He was some time in finding that form.

When he returned his face was livid, his hand shook.