Moreover she was young
and warm and enthusiastic. Sometimes the spell of Miss Terry's sombre house
threatened her to the point of desperation. It was so this Christmas Eve;
but she made her request with apparent calmness.
"Yes, go along," assented her mistress ungraciously.
"Thank you, 'm," said the servant demurely, but with a brightening of her
blue eyes. And presently the area door banged behind her quick-retreating
footsteps.
"H'm! Didn't take her long to get ready!" muttered Miss Terry, giving the
fire a vicious poke. She was alone in the house, on Christmas Eve, and not
a man, woman, or child in the world cared. Well, it was what she wanted. It
was of her own doing. If she had wished--
She sat back in her chair, with thin, long hands lying along the arms of
it, gazing into the fire. A bit of paper there was crumbling into ashes.
Alone on Christmas Eve! Even Norah had some relation with the world
outside. Was there not a stalwart officer waiting for her on the nearest
corner? Even Norah could feel a simple childish pleasure in candles and
carols and merriment, and the old, old superstition.
"Stuff and nonsense!" mused Miss Terry scornfully. "What is our Christmas,
anyway? A time for shopkeepers to sell and for foolish folks to kill
themselves in buying.
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