It was a source of great satisfaction to Joseph Herriard that the holly trees were in full berry. He seemed to find in this circumstance an assurance that the projected reunion of the family would be a success. For days past he had been bringing prickly sprigs into the house, his rosy countenance beaming with pleasure, and his white locks (worn rather long, and grandly waving) ruffled by the December winds. Just look at the berries!" he would say, thrusting his sprigs under Nathaniel's nose, laying them on Maud's card-table.

"Very pretty, dear," Maud said, her flattened voice divesting her words of even the smallest vestige of enthusiasm.

"Take the damned thing away!" growled Nathaniel. "I hate holly!"

But neither the apathy of his wife nor the disapproval of his elder brother could damp Joseph's childlike enjoyment of the Festive Season. When a leaden sky heralded the advent of snow, he began to talk about old fashioned Christmases, and to liken Lexham Manor to Dingley Dell.

In point of fact, there was no more resemblance between the two houses than between Mr. Wardle and Nathaniel Herriard.

Lexham was a Tudor manor house, considerably enlarged, but retaining enough of its original character to make it one of the show-places of the neighbourhood. It was not a family seat of long standing, Nathaniel, who was a wealthy man (he had been an importer from the East Indies), having purchased it a few years before his retirement from an active share in his flourishing business. His niece, Paula Herriard, who did not like the Manor, could not imagine what should have induced an old bachelor to saddle himself with such a place, unless - hopefully - he meant to leave it to Stephen, her brother. In which case, she added, it was a pity that Stephen, who did like the place, should take so few pains to be decent to the old man.