"You know, Nat," Joseph said, rather ruefully, "old fogies like you and me can't afford to quarrel with the younger generation. Why, where should we be without them, with all their faults, bless their hearts!"
"I can afford to quarrel with anyone I like," replied Nathaniel, with perfect truth. "I don't say that Stephen and Paula can't come to stay if they want to, but I'm not going to have that young woman of Stephen's poisoning the air with her filthy scent; and I won't be badgered by Paula to back a play by a fellow I've never heard of, and don't want to hear of. All your precious young people are out for is money, and well I know it! When I think of the amount I've squandered on them, one way and another-"
"Well, and why shouldn't you?" said Joseph cheerfully. "Oh, you can't deceive me! You like to make out that you're a skinflint; but I know the joy of giving, and nothing will make me believe you don't know it too!"
"Sometimes, Joe," said Nathaniel, "you make me feel sick!"
Nevertheless, he consented, after a good deal of persuasion, to invite Stephen's "young woman' to Lexham. In the end, quite a number of persons forgathered at the Manor for Christmas, since Paula brought with her the unknown dramatist to whom Nathaniel had taken such violent exception; Mathilda Clare invited herself; and Joseph decided, at the last moment, that it would be unkind to break the custom of years by excluding Nathaniel's business-partner, Edgar Mottisfont, from the party.
Joseph spent the days immediately preceding Christmas in decorating the house. He bought paperchains, and festooned them across the ceilings; he pricked himself grievously in countless attempts to fix sprigs of holly over all the pictures; and he hung up bunches of mistletoe at all strategic points. He was engaged on this work when Mathilda Clare arrived. As she entered the house, he was erecting an infirm stepladder in the middle of the hall, preparatory to securing a bunch of mistletoe to the chandelier.
"Tilda, my dear!" he exclaimed, letting the step-ladder fall with a crash, and hurrying to meet this first arrival. "Well, well, well, well!"
"Hallo, Joe!" returned Miss Clare. "Yule-tide-and-allthat?"
Joseph beamed, and said: "Ah, I catch you at a disadvantage! See!" He held up the mistletoe over her head, and embraced her.
"Cave-man," said Mathilda, submitting.
Joseph laughed delightedly, and, slipping a hand in her arm, led her into the library, where Nathaniel was reading the paper. "Look what the fairies have brought us, Nat!" he said.
Nathaniel looked up over his spectacles, and said in somewhat discouraging accents: "Oh, it's you, is it? How are you? Glad to see you."
"Well, that's something, anyway," said Mathilda, shaking hands with him. "Thanks for letting me come, by the way."
"I suppose you want something," said Nathaniel, but with a twinkle.
"Not a thing," replied Mathilda, lighting a cigarette. "Only Sarah's sister has broken her leg, and Mrs. Jones can't oblige."
As Sarah was the devoted retainer who constituted Miss Clare's domestic staff, the reason for her visit to the Manor was felt to have been satisfactorily explained. Nathaniel grunted, and said that he might have known it. Joseph squeezed Mathilda's arm, and told her not to pay any attention to Nat. "We're going to have a real Christmas jollification!" he said.
"The deuce we are!" said Mathilda. "All right, Joe: I'll co-operate. The perfect guest: that's me. Where's Cousin Maud?"
Maud was discovered presently in the morning-room. She seemed vaguely glad to see Mathilda, and gave her a cheek to kiss, remarking somewhat disconcertingly: "Poor Joseph is so set on an old-fashioned Christmas!"
"All right, I've no objection to helping him," said Mathilda. "Shall I make paper-chains, or something? Who's coming?"
"Stephen and Paula, and Stephen's fiancee, and of course Mr. Mottisfont."
"It sounds like a riot of fun. Stephen would make any party go with a swing."
"Nathaniel does not care for Stephen's fiancee," Maud stated.
"You don't say!" remarked Miss Clare vulgarly.
"She is very pretty," said Maud.
Mathilda grinned. "So she is," she admitted.
Mathilda was not pretty. She had good eyes, and beautiful hair, but not even in her dewy youth had she been able to deceive herself into thinking that she was good-looking. She had sensibly accepted her plainness, and had, she said, put all her money on style. She was much nearer thirty than twenty; she enjoyed private means; lived in a cottage not uncomfortably far from London; and eked out her income by occasional journalism, and the breeding of bull-terriers. Valerie Dean, who was Stephen's fiancee, vaguely resented her, because she dressed so well, and made her plainness so arresting that she attracted a good deal of attention at parties at which Valerie had confidently expected to draw all eyes upon herself.
"Of course, darling, it isn't that I don't like your cousin," Valerie told Stephen, "but it's so silly to call her striking. Because she's practically hideous, isn't she, Stephen?"
"Sure," said Stephen.
"Do you think she's so frightfully clever, Stephen? I mean, do you?"
"Never thought about it. She's a damned good sort."
"Oh, darling, that sounds absolutely foul!" said Valerie, pleased. "Don't you wish she weren't going to be at Lexham?"
"No."
"Oh, Stephen, you are a swine! Why don't you?"
"I like her. I wish you'd shut your pretty little trap. I hate being yapped at when I'm driving."
"You are a low hound, Stephen. Do you love me?"
"Yes, damn you!"
"Well, it doesn't sound as though you did. I'm pretty, aren't I?"
"Yes, my little bonehead, you're lovely - Aphrodite and Helen rolled into one. Stop drivelling!"
"Oh, I can't think why I ever fell for you, darling. I think you're foul!" said Miss Dean cooingly.
He vouchsafed no answer to this remark, and his betrothed, apparently realising that his mood was not propitious, sank her chin into the collar of her fur coat, and relapsed into quiescent silence.
Their arrival at Lexham Manor coincided with that of Edgar Mottisfont, and all three were welcomed into the house by Joseph, who came trotting out into the porch, beaming with pleasure, and claiming the privilege of an old stager to embrace Valerie.
His rapt appreciation of the truly lovely picture she presented made Stephen look more than ordinarily sardonic, but was well received by his target. Miss Dean, who was indeed lovely, liked to hear her charms enthusiastically praised, and was not above responding to the arch sallies of old gentlemen. She lifted her large blue eyes to Joseph's face, and told him that she knew he was dreadfully wicked, a pronouncement which delighted Joseph, and made Stephen say ill-naturedly: "A case of si aieillesse pouvait!"
"Well, Stephen!" said Edgar Mottisfont, descending from the car which had been sent to fetch him from the station.
"Hallo!" said Stephen indifferently.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," said Mottisfont, looking at him with disfavour.
"Why?" asked Stephen.
"Now, now, now!" chided Joseph, overhearing this interchange, and bustling forward. "My dear Edgar! Come in, come in! You must be frozen, all of you! Look at the sky! We're going to have a white Christmas. I shouldn't be surprised if we found ourselves tobogganing in a day or two."
"I should," said Stephen, following the others into the house. "Hallo, Mathilda!"
"I thought I heard your mellow accents," said Mathilda. "Spreading goodwill, my sweet?"
Stephen allowed his bitter mouth to relax into a smile at this greeting, but as Nathaniel came into the hall at that moment, and favoured him with nothing more than a nod, and a curt "Glad to see you, Stephen," the disagreeable expression returned to his face, and he immediately laid himself out to be objectionable to everyone within range.