over to London for Christmas.  Philip wrote back that he would like nothing better, only he had already an engagement to spend Christmas with friends in the country, and he did not see how he could break it.  She answered that she did not wish to force herself on him, it was quite evident that he did not wish to see her; she was deeply hurt, and she never thought he would repay with such cruelty all her kindness.  Her letter was touching, and Philip thought he saw marks of her tears on the paper; he wrote an impulsive reply saying that he was dreadfully sorry and imploring her to come; but it was with relief that he received her answer in which she said that she found it would be impossible for her to get away.  Presently when her letters came his heart sank:  he delayed opening them, for he knew what they would contain, angry reproaches and pathetic appeals; they would make him feel a perfect beast, and yet he did not see with what he had to blame himself.  He put off his answer from day to day, and then another letter would come, saying she was ill and lonely and miserable.

“I wish to God I’d never had anything to do with her,” he said.

He admired Watson because he arranged these things so easily.  The young man had been engaged in an intrigue with a girl who played in touring companies, and his account of the affair filled Philip with envious amazement.  But after a time Watson’s young affections changed, and one day he described the rupture to Philip.

“I thought it was no good making any bones about it so I just told her I’d had enough of her,” he said.

“Didn’t she make an awful scene?” asked Philip.

“The usual thing, you know, but I told her it was no good trying on that sort of thing with me.”

“Did she cry?”

“She began to, but I can’t stand women when they cry, so I said she’d better hook it.”

Philip’s sense of humour was growing keener with advancing years.

“And did she hook it?” he asked smiling.

“Well, there wasn’t anything else for her to do, was there?”

Meanwhile the Christmas holidays approached.  Mrs. Carey had been ill all through November, and the doctor suggested that she and the Vicar should go to Cornwall for a couple of weeks round Christmas so that she should get back her strength.  The result was that Philip had nowhere to go, and he spent Christmas Day in his lodgings.  Under Hayward’s influence he had persuaded himself that the festivities that attend this season were vulgar and barbaric, and he made up his mind that he would take no notice of the day; but when it came, the jollity of all around affected him strangely.  His landlady and her husband were spending the day with a married daughter, and to save trouble Philip announced that he would take his meals out.  He went up to London towards mid-day and ate a slice of turkey and some Christmas pudding by himself at Gatti’s, and since he had nothing to do afterwards went to Westminster Abbey