It was not a large nor particularly brilliant tree, but to Swot it was everything that was beautiful.  At first he was afraid to approach, but after a little Constance persuaded him into a walk around it, and finally tempted him, by an artful mention of what was in one of the larger packages at the base, to treat it more familiarly.  Once the ice was broken, the two were quickly seated on the floor, Constance cutting strings, and Swot giving shouts of delight at each new treasure.  Presently, in especial joy over some prize, the boy turned to show it to the doctor, to discover that he was standing well back, watching, rather than sharing, in the pleasure of the two; and, as the little chap discovered the aloofness, he leaned over and whispered something to the girl.

“I want to, but can’t get the courage yet,” whispered back Constance.  “I don’t know what is the matter with me, Swot,” she added, blushing.

“Like me to guv it to ’im?”

“Oh, will you, Swot?” she eagerly demanded.  “It’s the parcel in tissue-paper on my desk over there.”

The waif rose to his feet and trotted to the place indicated.  He gave a quick glance back at Miss Durant, and seeing that she was leaning over a bundle, he softly unfolded the tissue-paper, slipped something from his newly possessed breast pocket into the handkerchief-case, and refolded the paper.  He crossed the room to where the doctor was standing, and handed him the parcel, with the remark, “Dat’s for youse, from Miss Constance an’ me, doc.”  Then scurrying back to the side of the girl, he confided to her, “Ise guv de doc a present, too.”

“What was it?” asked Constance, still not looking up.

“Go an’ ask ’im,” chuckled Swot.

Turned away as she might be, she was not unconscious of the doctor’s movements, and she was somewhat puzzled when, instead of coming to her with thanks, he crossed the room to a bay-window, where he was hidden by the tree from both of them.  From that point he still further astonished her by the request,—­

“Can you—­will you please come here for a moment, Miss Durant?”

Constance rose and walked to where he stood.  “I hope you like my gift?” she asked.

“You could have given me nothing I have so wanted—­nothing I shall treasure more,” said the man, speaking low and fervently.  “But did you realise what this would mean to me?” As he spoke, he raised his hand, and Constance saw, not the handkerchief-case, but a photograph of herself.

“Oh!” she gasped.  “Where—­I didn’t—­that was a picture I gave to Swot.  The case is my gift,”

The doctor’s hand dropped, and all the hope and fire went from his eyes.  “I beg your pardon for being so foolish, Miss Durant.  I—­I lost my senses for a moment—­or I would have known that you never—­that the other was your gift.”  He stooped to pick it up from the floor where he had dropped it.  “Thank you very deeply for your kindness, and—­and try to forget my folly.”