They walked home together, arm-in-arm, down the darkling sea-front. A moist breeze blew in their faces: and she clung to him. Their old-time friendship seemed to have renewed itself. The man felt supremely contented: the woman—a trifle off her guard....

And then, they found Marcus Bramson waiting up for them!

He was prowling about the half-lit lounge, purpose in his eye; insisted they must come to his sitting-room; be introduced to Mrs. Bramson; have “one little glass of something, just to celebrate Christmas Day.”

“Confound Marcus,” yawned Peter as—some hours later—he struggled sleepily between cool sheets, “it must be about two G. M.”

“Half-past,” corrected Patricia, combing gold hair before the slanting mirror. She came over; kissed him according to custom; climbed into her own bed; switched off the lights.