“He will ’ave it as the young man’s gone off with the young woman,” she observed.

Mr. Partington made a commentatory sound.

“An’ ’e’s ’arf mad,” she added. “’E means mischief if ’e can manage it.”

Mr. Partington observed, in his own particular kind of vocabulary, that the Major’s intentions were absurd, since the young man would scarcely be such a peculiarly qualified kind of fool as to return.  And Mrs. Partington agreed with him. (In fact, this had been her one comfort all day.  For it seemed to her, with her frank and natural ideas, that, on the whole, Frank and Gertie had done the proper thing.  She was pleased, too, to think that she had been right in her surmises as to Gertie’s attitude to Frank.  For, of course, she never doubted for one single instant that the two had eloped together in the ordinary way, though probably without any intentions of matrimony.)

Mr. Partington presently inquired as to where the Major was, and was informed that he was, of course, at the “Queen’s Arms.”  He had been there, in fact, continuously—­except for sudden excursions home, to demand whether anything had been heard of the fugitives—­since about half-past eleven that morning.  It was a situation that needed comfort.

Mrs. Partington added a few comments on the whole situation, and presently put on her bonnet and went out to supplement her Christmas preparations with the extra five shillings, leaving her husband to doze in the Windsor chair, with his pipe depending from his mouth.  He had walked up from Kent that morning, he said.

* * * * *

She returned in time to get tea ready, bringing with her various “relishes,” and found that the situation had developed slightly since her departure.  The Major had made another of his infuriated returns, and had expanded at length to his old friend Mr. Partington, recounting the extraordinary kindness he had always shown to Frank and the confidence he had reposed in him.  He had picked him up, it seemed, when the young man had been practically starving, and had been father and comrade to him ever since.  And to be repaid in this way!  He had succeeded also by his eloquence, Mrs. Partington perceived, in winning her husband’s sympathies, and was now gone off again, ostensibly to scour the neighborhood once more, but, more probably, to attempt to drown his grieved and wounded feelings.

Mrs. Partington set her thin lips and said nothing.  She noticed also, as she spread the table, a number of bottles set upon the floor, two of them with yellow labels—­the result of Maggie’s errand—­and prepared herself to face a somewhat riotous evening.  But Christmas, she reflected for her consolation, comes but once a year.