the Noche Buena—”
“How awful, Christmas with hibiscus and poinsettia! It makes me long to see mistletoe among the oranges, in a fruiterer’s shop in Hampstead.”
“Why that?” laughed Teresa.
“Oh!” Kate sighed petulantly. “To get back to simple life. To see the ’buses rolling on the mud in Piccadilly, on Christmas Eve, and the wet pavements crowded with people under the brilliant shops.”
“Is that life, to you?” asked Teresa.
“Yes! Without all this abstraction, and will. Life is good enough for me if I am allowed to live and be myself.”
“It is time Cipriano should come home,” said Teresa.
But this made Kate rise from her seat, with sudden impatience. She would not have this thing put over her! She would break free, and show them!
She went with