CHRISTMAS

It was shortly after this that a miniature riot broke out in the tiny apartment where Violet Manning and her two friends made a home; and it was on the subject of Christmas, too.

The year before, Violet had spent the holidays with Mrs. Wright in Boston; but this year the loving letter which she now held in her hand invited her cordially not to come to the island.

"I want to see my little girl," wrote Mrs. Wright, "but I would rather risk the sort of days you will spend among the many pupils who are sure to ask you than to let you take the expensive journey to the island, so bleak and cold as it is, and with nothing to repay you at this end but a hug from Aunt Amy."

Violet read this aloud, and her two friends listened attentively.

"I told you," said Roxana, the teacher and the eldest, "that Mrs. Wright wouldn't let you come. I shall stay here with you." She spoke firmly. Her face had the lines of one who always spoke firmly.

"Then I shall stay, too", said Regina, the art-student.

"Then you'll make me miserable, girls!" ejaculated Violet energetically, folding her letter back in its envelope. She was sitting on the table, a favorite perch not to be despised in that box of a room where she often said one must either be under the table or on it. She swung both her slippered feet and her blonde head. "Roxy—Rex—" she added beseechingly, "do you want to ruin my holidays?"

"Rex can go, it's very foolish for her to talk about staying, when she can go sleighing in the country and study the shadows on the snow," said Roxana.

"What's the use of being a bachelor girl if you can't have any independence?" inquired Violet, her blue eyes, and full, pretty lips looking stormy.

"The baby bachelor can't have everything she wants," said Roxana. "You're the baby bachelor. Rex may do approximately as she pleases, but I am the only one entirely independent. Rex still waves her hair. I stopped a year ago; just forgot it. That was the rubicon. Have you heard of the old colored mammy who deplored the failure of her dear but mature miss to marry? She said to her consolingly: 'Never mine, honey, I'se known some old maids who settled down right happy and contented when they stopped strugglin'.' I knew when I forgot to wave my hair that I'd stopped 'strugglin'." Roxana rocked gently. It was the only safe way to rock in that apartment. "So when that time comes, Violet, you will see that you have earned independence."

"Oh, Rox, don't be so unkind," pleaded Violet. "I've had ever so many invitations for Christmas dinner from parents. I knew my small admirers slapped them into it, so I refused; but I give you my word that if you will go ahead with your Christmas plans, I will write to one of the most ardent, and Cinderella's coach will be nothing compared to the limousine that will be sent for me Christmas morning, and nothing will be lacking but the prince to make the story complete. If you don't promise, I'll sulk all the holidays, and I won't stay with you either. I'll go skating in the park."

Roxana smiled meditatively.

"Prince!" repeated Regina ecstatically. "That reminds me of mine again."

"Oh, help!" exclaimed Violet. "I've reminded her of Mr. What's-his-name. Rex, if you'll promise to go ahead with your holiday doings, I'll let you tell us again how He came into the class-room first, and how He chose the best light, and how His sketches were always stunning, and how hard it was for you not to sketch Him instead of the model, and I'll let you show me the head you did of Him on the sly, and you shall tell us again how you plotted for an introduction and how you didn't get it, and—"

"Oh, hush up," said Regina good-naturedly. "How about that Mr. Fabian you met at the island? How about the careless elegance of his manners? How about that wonderful, heartrending, angelic voice in which he sang on moonlight sails?"

"Dear me!" said Violet, swinging her feet and smiling with mischievous eyes, "what a wonderful memory you have! I had forgotten all about him."

"It shows what a superior being he considers himself that he has allowed you to," retorted Regina, with curling lip; "after the way he behaved at the island—"

"I never said he behaved," interrupted Violet mildly.

"Well, he kept on asking you to go, every time they sailed, and gave you every reason to think he was friendly."

"That's summer friendship," returned Violet, but her cheeks took a deeper rose. The shoe pinched.

"Well, it's settled," said Roxana. "Rex proceeds to the farm and studies snow shadows. I stay here, and sleep as late as I wish in the morning. Now, be calm, Violet. It isn't as if I had a home to go to. It wouldn't be all holiday to visit, and be on my best behavior, and not be sure which fork to use nor how large tips I ought to give the servants, nor—"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Violet. "It will do you all the good in the world to sit down in the lap of luxury for a while; to live in large rooms, and drive in large motors, and eat large dinners, and lounge on large divans, and sleep in large beds; and you're going, Rex, you're going."

There was something like tears in the stormy blue eyes, and Regina heard with relief the postman's whistle.

"Go down and see if we have anything, will you, Violet? I'm fixed so comfortably, and it's nothing to hop off the table."

Violet obeyed, and the other bachelors saw her press a very small handkerchief to her eyes as she went.

"You'd better go, Rox," said Regina in a low tone. "I know just how she feels."

"If it weren't for Christmas day I would; but I am sure Violet won't accept a pupil's hospitality for more than an hour, just so she can tell us she went; and the baby shan't spend Christmas eve and Christmas night alone. Even if she won't speak to me, I shall stay. It's the lesser of two evils. Honestly, I would enjoy a lazy time at home here with no papers to correct. The trouble is to get her to believe it."

Here Violet returned; her face and bearing so laden with dignity that Roxana coughed lest she laugh. The baby bachelor handed a postcard to Regina, then took a very straight-backed chair. To sit on either of her customary thrones, the table or the floor, would be too much concession to her mutinous companions. She opened the letter in her hand, and as she read, a curious change altered her countenance. The wintry stiffness of her expression began to thaw. A springtime warmth appeared in her eyes, and, spreading to her lips, relaxed their corners. At last she looked up. The sparkle of summer seas shone in her glance.

"You can go, girls," she said; "it is all right. Mrs. Fabian has asked me to dinner on Christmas, with a dance afterward and to spend the night. Now, then!" She challenged Roxana triumphantly.

"How about Christmas eve?" inquired the latter inflexibly.

"You tiresome old dear, the Settlement has a tree and I'll attend it, and spend the night with one of my class who is interested there."

"Then I'll go," agreed Roxana mildly. "Fled is the rosy dream of sleeping till noon and watching you skate in the afternoons; and I will ask Mrs. McCabe across the hall to keep an eye on you."

The invitation came as a welcome event to Philip Sidney as well. Aunt Isabel had been uniformly kind and motherly to him. The thought of a solitary Christmas, or one spent in a glittering restaurant, made him wince even with all the allurements of his easel and his books; so at last Mrs. Fabian received a grateful reply to a dinner invitation.

The roses that came with his card on Christmas morning pleased her also, more than her extravagant gifts. While Phil was dressing he thought again of Kathleen. He had never seen her since the Sunday afternoon visit. He felt he could put up with Edgar's airs and graces through a dinner for the sake of seeing Kathleen again.

"I wonder if she'll smoke a cigarette to-night," he thought, while he adjusted the dress tie he had bought for the occasion: adjusted it very carefully, for the tie was a unique possession. If he made a botch of it he could not go to the dinner. The girl never came to his mind except when her mother spoke of her; but now that he was to be her guest he recalled agreeably how womanly and sweet had been her manner to Eliza on that autumn day before the stable had turned into a studio.

It was Kathleen who suggested sending the car for Violet. It was not the traditional Christmas of dry sparkling snow under a radiant moon, but a day of slush and clouds, and Kathleen was not of those owners of motors who believe that every one else has one, too. Her acquaintance with Violet was slight, but she knew she was a teacher and a very young one. She fancied that dollars were precious with her as yet.

So Violet rolled up to the brown-stone house on Christmas evening in state, arrayed in her best and full of anticipation. Mrs. Wright's gift to her had been a small gold pendant holding a turquoise matrix, and this she wore on a slender chain around her throat, where it shone between the deep blue of her eyes and the pale blue of her gown.

Kathleen's greeting to her had a ring of friendliness through its gentle formality. Violet's involuntary thought was that she might have been less formal, for, although there was nothing chilling in her manner, it seemed to suggest the difference between the bachelor maid doing light housekeeping in a hemmed-in apartment and the heiress of this stately mansion.

Mrs. Fabian was kindly patronizing, and held Violet at her side that she might meet the other dinner guests.

Edgar Fabian was one of the last to enter the drawing-room. Violet noted that he was not alone, but although his companion dwarfed him she saw no one but the well-set-up, exquisite youth with the shining hair who had been the companion of her moonlight sails. Her heart quickened and her color deepened.

"I'm behaving exactly like Rex," she thought impatiently. Really there had been no reason why Edgar Fabian should take pains to find her in the city or show her any courtesy, after the return from the island, but in her heart of hearts she had expected he would; and it showed no proper pride in this same heart to give an undignified bound at the present juncture. What was the idiotic thing bounding for anyway?

This query she put to it as Edgar approached his mother; and now Violet saw that his companion was a tall man whose evening clothes could not lessen the breadth of his shoulders, and whose poetic face was lighted with alert, observant eyes.

Mrs. Fabian greeted the stranger warmly, and presented him to Violet as her nephew, Mr. Sidney; while Edgar's cool eyes swept the girl's face for a brief moment without recognition.

"You remember Miss Manning, Edgar," said his mother; and then the sudden gleeful smile relieved the youth's face of its superciliousness.

"What a difference feathers make to the bird, Miss Manning!" he ejaculated. "Upon my word, I think I must have believed you always wore a jolly little red sweater and hat. Weren't those corking sails we had? Awfully glad to see you again." And he bore Phil off to meet his friends.

"I think, Miss Manning," said Mrs. Fabian impressively, "that in meeting my nephew you have seen a future celebrity. He is wonderfully talented."

"How pleasant," murmured Violet, the idiot heart having given one record-breaking bound and then retired into its usual self-effacement.

"Yes, he is a painter. Only a student as yet, of course. I think he has the sort of originality that longs to spread its wings and fly; but he holds himself down to foundation work in the most level-headed way."

Violet's eyes followed the easy movements of the athletic figure.

"Studying art, did you say?"

"Yes."

"I didn't quite get his name?"

"Sidney. Philip Sidney."

Stars began to twinkle in Violet's eyes at her sudden enlightenment. What would Rex say?

Kathleen Fabian's observing eyes found time to follow Phil, too. He wore his dress clothes more like one accustomed to inhabit palaces than stables. She saw girlish eyes brighten as Edgar personally conducted the Westerner about the room. When she planned to sit next him at dinner, it had been with a thought of protection; as Edgar had been lavish of prophecies of the probable gaucherie of the cowboy. She also had believed it quite likely that the mining engineer did not possess a dress suit; and Edgar had drawn cheerful pictures of the way his arms and legs would probably protrude from any which he might rent; but it was quite evident now that Phil had a good tailor and had not spent all his evenings in a mountain cabin.

Kathleen had suggested to her brother that he be seated beside Violet Manning, as there would be no other man present whom she had ever seen, but Edgar vetoed that plan.

"Let the two derelicts go in together," he had said. "I never did see any sense in this business of social philanthropy. Let the lonely people take care of each other. They will if you only have the cleverness to bring them together. Then you're spared all the boredom yourself, and kill two birds with one stone."

"My dear," his mother had said, "Miss Manning is an orphan, alone in the city, and you were quite friendly with her at the island—"

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about the island all the evening. There are some widows I would consider; but when it comes to orphans—orphan teachers—count me out."

He smiled the gleeful smile, and Kathleen sighed, and allotted him to the maiden of his choice; one who knew and hated the enthralling Mrs. Larrabee, and who, he averred, had enough "pep" not to bore him.

Violet had somehow expected to be placed with Edgar at dinner, and argue with herself as she would, the surprise of finding herself with a stranger instead gave her the sensation of a slight; but she was cheery and natural, and her escort, a youth with long lashes and a sallow complexion, found the sea-blue eyes intelligent and sympathetic repositories for his mournful rhapsodies upon Kathleen Fabian's charms.

She was sitting across the table from them beside Philip Sidney. Aqua-marines glistened water-blue about her bare throat, and filmy lace clung to her satin shoulders. Her simple coiffure was in contrast to the puffs and curls that danced airily on the other girlish heads. Kathleen's was straight hair, but fine, thick, and lustrous. The simplicity of her aspect gave one to know that with her "the colors seen by candlelight" would look the same by day.

"It isn't every one who understands Miss Fabian," the long lashes announced to Violet, with the implication that he was in the inner circle. "She's what I call a subtle girl—a mysterious girl. Those jewels suit her. That liquid, elusive play of light, as the moonlight sparkles on the water, is like her moods, gentle, and—and remote. I often think Miss Fabian lives in a world of her own. One can't always be sure that she hears what one is saying."

"I know her very little," returned Violet, "but she does seem a very thoughtful girl."

"Who is that chap with her?—the big fellow?"

"That is her cousin, Mr. Sidney."

"Her cousin? I never saw him before."

"I fancy he's not a New Yorker," said Violet. "He is here studying art."

"H'm," ejaculated Long-Lashes. "He doesn't look the part. He doesn't wear artistic hair."

"No," agreed Violet. "There is no studied disorder in his appearance. Miss Fabian seems to hear everything he says," she added demurely; "and why, if he is her cousin, does she call him Mr. Sidney?"

Long-Lashes, who had looked cheered at the information of relationship, gloomed again.

"I'm sure I have it right," went on Violet. "Mrs. Fabian told me he was her nephew."

"Oh," returned her companion, "but Mrs. Fabian is Kathleen's step-mother." He looked across at the pair anxiously. "She has adopted him, though, that's evident. Her wits haven't gone wool-gathering since we sat down."

When the young people returned to the drawing-room they found a charming transformation had taken place. The spacious floor was bare, garlands of evergreen, holly, and mistletoe were wreathed in all possible positions, and a majestic Christmas tree sparkling with the tiny electric bulbs of these sophisticated days stood in a recess. Its boughs were gay with favors for a german.

An orchestra, concealed behind palms in the hall, played a Christmas carol as the couples entered.

"There are Christmas fairies even in Gotham," said Phil to Kathleen. "Ah," he thought, "poverty may be no disgrace, but what a convenience is money!" "Before we go any further," he added aloud, "I want to thank you, Miss Fabian, for the honor you paid the stranger in a strange land by allowing me to take you out to dinner. I want you to know that I appreciate it in a gathering of your own friends."

Kathleen's calm eyes met his. She was glad he could not know that she had expected to champion his crude appearance in a gathering where clothes went far to make the man.

"I never thought of doing anything else," she returned; then added, smiling, "You know I owed you hospitality."

"Brave girl," returned Phil, "to dare to refer to that ill-starred day. I should never have had the courage."

"Do you ever hear from Eliza?" asked Kathleen.

"I received one letter after her arrival. It was mostly about her cat, Pluto. She said he acted like an imp of darkness."

"Why wouldn't he—saddled with that name?" returned Kathleen.

Phil watched the aqua-marines sparkle and dissolve on the whiteness of her neck.

"Your mother did to my stable what the brownies have done here while we were dining. Did she tell you?"

"She told me she bought you a few things."

"That is a modest way to put it. Will you come to tea with her some day this week and see for yourself?"

"I shall be glad to. I've not been able to remember you as being very comfortable."

The carol ceased. The odor of evergreen was fresh as the forest itself. The orchestra began a waltz.

"I wonder if he can dance," thought Kathleen, in her ignorance of the West. The evening clothes were promising but she had her doubts of Terpsichore west of the Rockies. She little knew that in dress clothes or sweater the cowboy leads the world in dancing.

The music was irresistible and in a moment she was floating away in the waltz.

"Dear me!" she thought with a mixture of consternation and satisfaction. "I've taken the best of everything!"

Edgar cast a glance after them. "A duck to the water," he thought. A touch of nature makes the whole world kin; and when Phil arrived to-night, that unique dress tie of his had suffered damage from his overcoat. Edgar with lofty hospitality had supplied the lack. It had given him a foretaste of self-satisfaction as patron of the arts, and he now felt quite benevolently glad to find that Phil was not going to entangle Kathleen's feet, as he sailed off with his own partner, humming the waltz in her appreciative ear.

Long-Lashes danced as he talked, with poetic meditation. Violet had no objection to him, but she was conscious of Edgar's every movement. If he did not ask her for the next dance she would not give him any, even if she had to sprain her ankle.

However, the catastrophe was averted, because he did ask her for the second, and, joy of joys, she could not give it to him; for as she and Long-Lashes crept near Kathleen and Phil during the waltz, Phil, prompted by his partner, raised his eyebrows in a request.

"The next, Miss Manning?"

She nodded assent; and so it was that Edgar took the third; and as soon as he joined her asked her opinion of Phil's dancing.

"Of course you're authority," he added tactfully, as they started.

"Oh, I quite forgot shop while I was with him," said Violet coolly; "beside, I don't teach ballroom dancing."

Edgar suspected that he had, in his own language, put his foot in it; so he used his universal panacea and sang the waltz in his partner's ear.

"Pretty, isn't it? Say, you can dance, Miss Manning, if you don't know how to teach it. Watch me favor you in the german."

"Mr. Sidney is a perfect dancer," she said.

"He looks it. I'm mighty glad he doesn't fall all over himself. He's a trifle too big to make that safe; and being a wild Westerner I didn't know just what he would do. Do you ever do a jig nowadays?"

"Occasionally—in the way of business."

"Say," exclaimed Edgar with enthusiasm, as he led her safely among the thickening couples, "would you do one to-night if I clear the floor?"

"Certainly not," returned Violet, laughing.

"But you did at the island."

"I only jig on a vessel's deck," said the girl.

"And I have to wait till next summer?"

"Poor, poor fellow!" Violet's eyes looked up into his pathetically. He had forgotten what very nice eyes they were, and what jolly little stars danced in their depths.

"I'd like to clog, and I believe I'd be a good one. Do you teach it?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll enter the class!" declared Edgar with enthusiasm.

"You're just a tiny bit over-age," said Violet. "Fifteen's the limit."

"Then I'll come to your home, that's what I'll do. I'll take private lessons."

"Impossible. There's no place to clog there except on the table."

"But that's what I should prefer to any other place."

"I'll teach you next summer," said Violet, "and take my pay in song."

"That's proverbially cheap," said Edgar.

"Yes, 'a song,' perhaps," returned Violet, "but I shall exact dozens."

Edgar tossed his head with the gleeful smile.

"It's a bargain," he declared.