As for Sir Lyon Dilsford, he was amused and touched to discover that, as is so often the case with a young and generous-hearted human being, Helen Brabazon had a sincere, if somewhat vague, desire to use her money for the good of humanity.  He was also touched and amused to find how ignorant she was of life, and how really child-like, under her staid and sensible appearance.  Of what she called “society” she cherished an utter contempt, convinced that it consisted of frivolous women and idle men—­in a word, of heartless coquettes and of fortune-hunters.  To Helen Brabazon the world of men and women was still all white and all black.  Sir Lyon, who, like most intelligent men, enjoyed few things more than playing schoolmaster to an attractive young woman, found the hour that he and Miss Brabazon spent together in the library of Wyndfell Hall speed by all too quickly.  They were both sorry when the gong summoned them to luncheon.

After a while Varick had persuaded Miss Burnaby to put on a hat and jacket, and go for a little walk alone with him, while Blanche Farrow went off for a talk with young Donnington.  Bubbles was the subject of their conversation, and different as were the ingenuous young man and his somewhat cynical and worldly companion, they found that they were cordially agreed as to the desirability of Bubbles abandoning the practices which had led to Mr. Burnaby’s abrupt departure that morning.

“Of course, I think them simply an extension of the extraordinary thought-reading gifts she had as a small child,” observed Blanche.

“I wish I could think it was only that—­I’m afraid it’s a good deal more than mere thought-reading,” Donnington said reluctantly.

* * * * *

Luncheon was a pleasant, lively meal; and after they had all had coffee and cigarettes, Bubbles managed to press almost the whole party into the business of decorating the church.  Their host entered into the scheme with seeming heartiness; but at the last moment he and Blanche Farrow elected to stay at home with Miss Burnaby.

The younger folk started off, a cheerful party—­James Tapster, who, as the others realized by something he said, hadn’t been into a church for years (he said he hated weddings, and, on principle, never attended funerals); Sir Lyon, who was always at anyone’s disposal when a bit of work had to be done; Helen Brabazon, who declared joyfully that she had always longed to decorate a country church; Bubbles herself, who drove the donkey-cart piled high with holly and with mistletoe; and Donnington, who pulled the donkey along.

Suffolk is a county of noble village churches; but of the lively group of young people who approached it on this particular Christmas Eve, only Donnington understood what a rare and perfect ecclesiastical building stood before them.  He had inherited from a scholarly father a keen interest in church architecture, and he had read an account of Darnaston church the night before in the book which dealt with Wyndfell Hall and its surroundings.