"
"And I--when can I come?"
"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on
the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange
and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and
eating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy.
After Christmas, perhaps."
"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever kept
outside, Frances?"
"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We are
both--outside. To have no home at Christmas is--" Quickly she got up.
"We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do."
For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all
the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went
toward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand.
"Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas."
"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I will
come in another cab." Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles
and made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dress
the tree.
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