“For goodness’ sake don’t, Claudia.”  Mrs. Warrick got up; some one at the telephone wanted her.  “I passed one of those downtown stores once, and the crowd in it was something awful.  You never know what kind of disease you might catch, and the people are so pushy.  All the nice stores have Christmas things.”

“I don’t doubt it.”  Claudia smiled.  “But Brooke Bank people have ideas of their own.  Their demands are many, and their dollars few.  And, then, I love to see the crowd.  Their pennies are as important as our pounds, and to watch their spending is the best kind of a play.”

“Where did you say you came from?” Miss French surveyed the girl in front of her with sudden interest.  Something new under the sun was ever the quest of her inquiries and pursuits, and as if she had possibly found it she looked closer at her friend’s guest.  Not the youth, not the fair skin now flushed with color that came and went, nor the long dark lashes, nor perfect teeth, nor anything that could be named made the girl distinctive, but something well-defined and penetrating.  Again she asked the question.  “Where did you say you were from?”

“From Virginia.  Have you ever been there?”

Miss French shook her head.

Claudia sat up.  In her eyes no longer laughter, and incredulity that was genuine.  “You mean you never have been to Virginia?”

“Never.”

Elbows on the table and chin in the palms of her hands, Claudia looked at Miss French as intently as Miss French looked at Claudia.  “Then you’ve never heard, I suppose, of the Northern Neck, or Westmoreland County, or Essex, or Lancaster, or King George, or—­”

“Never.  Quite English, aren’t they?  Is that where you live?”

“I live in Essex.  We’re on the Rappahannock.  There isn’t a railroad in the county.  We have to take the boat for Fredericksburg or Norfolk to get anywhere, unless we cross the river into Westmoreland County and drive over to the Potomac side and make the boat to Washington.  Have you ever been to Washington?”

“Of course.  I’ve been pretty well over the world.”

“And left out its best part!” Claudia laughed and got up to turn the logs which were smoking.  “You mustn’t die before seeing it.  There isn’t so much to see, perhaps, but a good deal to feel.  Do you like fox-hunting?”

“Never tried it.”  Again Miss French looked at the girl now standing in front of her.  She was certainly not a plate of fashion—­that is, not a French plate—­but she was graceful, and her clothes were really very good.  Her unconsciousness of self was rather astounding in a country girl.

“I think you’d like a fox-hunt.  I will miss the big one this year—­Thanksgiving comes so late, and Christmas there’s no time.”

“Christmas in the country must be very stupid.”

“Stupid!” Claudia’s hands, which had been clasped behind her back, opened and came together on her breast.  “Of course”—­her eyes were raised to Miss French’s—­“it’s a point of view, I suppose.  We don’t think it’s stupid.  We love it.”