It was Christmas at last; and all the three young people had been missing since before luncheon¹ in a most mysterious manner. But Betty Leicester, who came in late and flushed, managed to sit next her father; and he saw at once, being well acquainted with Betty, that some great affair was going on. She was much excited, and her eyes were very bright, and there was such a great secret that Mr. Leicester could do no less than ask to be let in, and be gayly refused and hushed, lest somebody else should know there was a secret, too. Warford, who appeared a little later, looked preternaturally solemn, and Edith alone behaved as if nothing were going to happen. She was as grown-up as possible, and chattered³ away about the delights of New York with an old London barrister who was Lady Mary's uncle, and Warford's guardian⁴, and chief adviser⁵ to the great Danesly estates. Edith was so pretty and talked so brightly that the old gentleman looked as amused and happy as possible.