Stuart had an urgent round of professional visits to make and could not join them, and at the last moment some message came from the Orphanage in reference to the tree, which kept Eugenia at home to make some alteration in her plans.  So when the time came to start only the four guests set out across the snowy lawn, down the woodland path leading to the village.  They went Indian file at first in order that Phil might make a trail through the snow, until they reached the beaten path.

It was colder than they had expected to find it, and presently Mary dropped back to the rear, so that she might hold her muff up, unobserved, to shield the rose she wore.  She could not bear to have its lovely petals take on a dark purplish tinge at the edges where the frost curled them.  In the church the steam-heated atmosphere brought out its fragrance till it was almost overpoweringly sweet, but when she glanced down she saw that it was no longer crisp and glowing.  It had wilted in the sudden change, and hung limp and dying on its stem.

“I’ll put it away in an envelope when I get back to the house,” thought Mary.  “When they all fade I’ll save the leaves and make a potpourri of them like we made of Eugenia’s wedding roses, and put them away in my little Japanese rose-jar, to keep always.”

Then the music began, and she entered heartily into the beautiful Christmas service.  The offering was to be divided among the various charities of the parish, it had been announced, and Mary, remembering the bright new quarter in her purse, was glad that she had earned that bit of silver herself.  It made it so much more of a personal offering than if she had saved it from her allowance.  She slipped her purse out of her jacket pocket as the prelude of the offertory filled the aisles and rose to the arches of the vaulted roof.

The man who carried the plate was slowly making his way towards the pew in which she sat, and with her gaze fixed on him, she began fumbling with the clasp of her purse, under cover of her muff.  She had never seen such a rubicund portly gentleman, with two double chins and expansive bald spot on his crown.  She held the coin between her fingers awaiting his slow approach.  Just as he reached the end of their pew where Phil was sitting, she sneezed.  Not a loud sneeze, but one of those inward convulsions that makes the whole body twitch spasmodically.

It sent a handful of petals from the wilted rose showering down into her lap.  The coin dropped back into her purse as she made an instinctive grab to save them from going to the floor.  Then blushing and embarrassed as the plate paused in front of her, she fumbled desperately in her purse to regain the dropped quarter.  The instant the coin left her fingers she saw the mistake she had made, and reached out her hand as if to snatch it back.  But it was too late, even if she had had the courage to reclaim it.  She had dropped her English shilling into the plate instead of the quarter!  Her precious talisman from the bride’s cake, that she had carried as a pocket piece ever since Eugenia’s wedding.