“I own you were right.  It isn’t as bad as it seemed.  He is really very gentlemanly and nice.  Still, it is a bit awkward too,” she added thoughtfully.

It is possible she was thinking of Mrs. Gerrard Pennington at the moment.

CHAPTER TEN

In which the Little Red Chimney keeps Festival, and the Candy Man receives an unexpected Invitation.

The Candy Man, letting himself in at his lodging house, one gloomy Sunday afternoon, stumbled upon a deputation of pigeons, in a state of fluttering impatience.

“She said to wait, and we thought you were never, never coming!” was their chorus.

“Never is a long day,” said the Candy Man.  “What will you have?”

It appeared they were the bearers of a missive which read briefly and to the point:  “Her ladyship requests the pleasure of the Candy Man’s presence at the Pigeons’ Christmas Tree, at four o’clock this afternoon.”

It had seemed to the Candy Man that he was altogether outside the holiday world, that for him Christmas had ended with his visit to the hospital that afternoon.  He had ventured to send a basket of fruit to his fellow lodgers, the invalid professor and his wife, and had played Santa Claus to two or three newsboys who frequented the Y.M.C.A. corner and to the small Malones, and the state of his exchequer scarcely warranted anything more.  The social calendar in the morning paper overflowed with festivities for the week, and he had pleased his fancy by picturing Miss Bentley, radiant and lovely, in the midst of them.  He, the lonely Candy Man, without the pale, could yet enjoy her pleasure in imagination.  And lo! this lonely Candy Man was bidden to a tree on Christmas Eve, by her ladyship.  He could not believe his eyes.

“It takes you a long time to read it,” said Virginia.  “You’d better come.  It’s late.”

Dark was beginning to fall outside, but the Little Red Chimney room was full of firelight when the Candy Man was ushered in, in the wake of the children, by cordial Uncle Bob.  It was a frolicsome, magical light that played about a row of red stockings hanging from the shelf above it; that advanced to the farthest corner and then retreated; that coaxed and dared the unlighted Christmas tree by the piano to wake up and do its part; that gleamed in Miss Bentley’s hair as she seated the pigeons in a semicircle on the rug.

Was it the magic of the firelight, or the absence of the grey hat, or the blue frock with its deep white collar, or, or—­The Candy Man got no further with his questions, for just then Margaret Elizabeth turned and gave him her hand, explaining that they were so much stiller when they sat on the floor.  She added that it was very good of him to come—­a purely conventional and entirely inaccurate statement.  He was also instructed to sit on the sofa with Uncle Bob.

“And now,” began Miss Bentley, standing with her back to the row of red stockings and looking into the upturned faces, “we are going to be rather quiet, for this, you know, is both Christmas Eve and Sunday.  First, we’ll sing ‘While Shepherds Watched,’ very softly.”