IT would have been ungracious of Melia not to spend Christmas Day at Strathfieldsaye. Indeed, she felt that she could hardly do otherwise. That stubborn thing, pride, might still be lurking in the corners of her heart, yet it durst not show itself openly; besides, whatever its secret machinations, she could not overlook the fact that her father was striving to wipe out the past. Perhaps the past is the only thing easier to create than to destroy, but certainly Josiah was now trying his best to undo it. And this Melia knew.

In view of the important function on Christmas Day, Melia had been taken in hand by Aunt Gerty. It would have been natural to resent the interference of that lady, but it was clear that her actions were inspired “from above.” At the same time no emissary could have been more tactful, more discreet. In situations that called for finesse she was hard to beat; and she was able to have Melia “fitted” for a really good coat and skirt by her own accomplished dressmaker, Miss Pratt, and helped her also to choose a hat at Messrs. Rostron and Merton’s, the best shop in the city, without arousing antagonism in that sensitive soul. Also she whispered in Melia’s ear that there was reason to believe that her father had a little surprise in store for her on Christmas Day.

In regard to “the surprise” Gerty’s information was correct. And as Melia, looking and feeling far more fashionable than she had ever done in her life, turned up at Strathfieldsaye at a quarter past one, “the surprise” duly materialized even before the Christmas luncheon at one-thirty. Her father gave her a check for fifty pounds.

On Melia’s last visit to Strathfieldsaye she had felt quite “out of it,” but not so now. Partly it may have been the new clothes. Formerly, she had felt self-conscious, awkward, hopelessly shabby in the midst of a grandeur to which she was unused, whereby she was thrown back upon her embittered self, but now her changing circumstances, the considered kindness of her mother and Gerty, and especially her father’s new attitude towards her gave her a sense of happiness almost.

Perhaps the fact that Ethel, Mrs. Doctor Cockburn, was unable to be present may also have ministered a little to this feeling. Ethel’s absence was much deplored. Somehow a void was created which seemed to rob the modest function of any claim to distinction it might have had; yet in her heart Melia felt that the absence of Mrs. Doctor made it easier for her personally, and even for her mother, whatever it may have done for people so accomplished in the world as her father now was, and for Aunt Gerty who somehow had learned to be genteel without being stuck-up. With Ethel, on the other hand, she had never felt quite at her ease. Nor did anybody, if it came to that. Putting people at their ease was not among Mrs. Doctor Cockburn’s many gifts. She was so much a lady that simple folk were apt to be overwhelmed by her sense of her happy condition. It was difficult for ordinary people to be their plain selves in her presence; ordinary they might be, but in social intercourse Mrs. Doctor seemed almost to resent their plainness as being in the nature of a slight upon herself.

However, Ethel was not there. And in Melia’s opinion her absence gave a finer flavor to the turkey, a gentler quality to the plum pudding and a more subtle aroma to the blazing fumes that crowned it. Nevertheless, it was a theme for much comment. An Event of the first magnitude was almost due to take place in the family; and the head of it, presiding over the modest feast with a kind of genial majesty which ever-growing public recognition of his unusual qualities seemed to enhance and to humanize, made no secret of the fact that he very much wanted to have a little grandson.

“Well, Josiah,” said the gallant Gerty, adding a little water to some excellent claret and smiling at him with two level rows of white teeth, “I am sure we all hope your wish will be gratified. No man, I’m sure, if I may be allowed to say so, more thoroughly deserves a little grandson than yourself.”

To some minds, perhaps, it was not quite in the Gertrude tradition. It was Christmas Day and in crowning the Christmas pudding Josiah had been a thought on the free side, no doubt, with some of the finest old brandy even the Duke of Wellington could boast; but in any case she meant well. All the same, the Mayoress could not repress a slight frown of annoyance. The demonstration did not amount to more than that. It did not really convict Gerty of bad taste, but Maria felt somehow that she had to watch her continually. Gerty was such a Schemer. Besides, what business was it of Gerty’s anyway?

“Thank you, Gert.” The Mayor raised his glass to the Serpent with the homely charm that was never seen to greater advantage than on Christmas Day in the family circle. “Good health and good luck all round. I must have that little grandson, somehow. Melia, my gel, that’s something for you and your good man to bear in mind.”

Melia flushed. She looked so confused and so unhappy that the watchful Gerty, who with all her ways really spent a good deal of time thinking for others, suddenly perceived that it might be kind to change the subject.

“Josiah,” said Gerty, “what is this one hears about a public presentation to Sally?”

“You may well ask that.” The Mayor held up a glass of ’68 port to the light. “Some of those jockeys on the City Council have been making themselves very officious.”

“Glad to hear it, Josiah.” Gerty was just as pat as your hat. “Think of the honor she’s brought to the city. Surely right and surely proper that what Sally has done should be publicly recognized. Even the Times says she’s a credit to the Empire.”

“All very well,” said his worship. “But it’s nothing like ten years since I used to lay her across my knee and spank her. There was one slipper I kept for the purpose.” With a humorous sigh he converged upon the brim of his wine glass. “But I could never make nothing of that gel. There was always the devil in her. Public presentation’s all very well, but some of those jockeys on the Council have persuaded the Duke to make it, and he’s fair set on my takin’ the chair as I’m Mayor o’ the city and so on.”

“The Duke is such a sensible man!” An arch preen of Gerty’s plumage. “Only right and proper, Josiah, that you should take the chair. The other day, according to the Tribune, the French Government gave her a very high decoration. She’s quite a heroine in Paris.”

“I’m not surprised at anything.” In the Mayor’s grim eye was quite as much vexation as there was humor. “Stubborn as a mule. And that independent. Must always go her own gait. Nice thing my having to preside over three thousand people while she’s being handed an illuminated address. Of course, that Aylett’s at the back of it. Mischievous dog! I said if there must be a public presentation, as I was the father o’ the hussy, it was up to somebody else to preside. But, seemingly, they don’t take to the idea.”

“Of course not, Josiah.”

Groaned the Mayor, “I’ll have to make the best of it, I suppose. Still, a scurvy trick on the part of that Aylett.”

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