PART VII - CHAPTER VERA'S SECOND CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE - CHAPTER IV

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So that in spite of Vera's definite proclamation that there should
be no Christmassing in her house that year, Christmassing there
emphatically was. Impossible to deny anything to Mr Bittenger! Mr
Bittenger wanted holly, the gardener supplied it. Mr Bittenger
wanted mistletoe, a bunch of it was brought home by Stephen in the
dogcart. Mr Bittenger could not conceive an English Christmas
without turkey, mince-pies, plum-pudding, and all the usual
indigestiveness. Vera, speaking in a voice which seemed somehow
not to be hers, stated that these necessaries of Christmas life
would be produced, and Stephen did not say that the very thought
of a mince-tart made him ill. Even the English weather, which, it
is notorious, has of late shown a sad disposition to imitate, and
even to surpass, in mildness the weather of the Riviera at
Christmas, decided to oblige Mr Bittenger. At nightfall on
Christmas Eve it began to snow gently, but steadily--fine, frozen
snow. And the waits, consisting of boys and girls from the
Countess of Chell's celebrated institute close by, came and sang
in the garden in the falling snow, by the light of a lantern. And
Mr Bittenger's heart was as full as it could hold of English
Christmas.

As for Vera's heart, it was full of she knew not what. Mr
Bittenger's attitude towards her grew more and more chivalrous. He
contrived to indicate that he regarded all the years he had spent
before making the acquaintance of Vera as so many years absolutely
wasted. And Stephen did not seem to care.

They retired to rest that evening up a staircase whose banisters
the industrious hands of Mr Bittenger had entwined with holly and
paper festoons, and bade each other a merry Christmas with immense
fervour; but in the conjugal chamber Stephen maintained his policy
of implacable silence. And, naturally, Vera maintained hers. Could
it be expected of her that she should yield? The fault was all
Stephen's. He ought to have taken her to The Bear, Switzerland.
Then there would have been no dream, no Mr Bittenger, and no
danger. But as things were, within twenty-four hours he would be a
dead man.

And throughout Christmas Day Vera, beneath the gaiety with which
she met the vivacious sallies of Mr Bittenger, waited in horrible
suspense for the dream to fulfil itself. Stephen alone observed
her agitated condition. Stephen said to himself: 'The quarrel is
getting on her nerves. She'll yield before she's a day older. It
will do her good. Then I'll make it up to her handsomely. But she
must yield first.'

He little knew he was standing on the edge of the precipice of
death.

The Christmas dinner succeeded admirably; and Stephen, in whom
courage was seldom lacking, ate half a mince-pie. The day was
almost over. No premature decease had so far occurred. And when
both the men said that, if Vera permitted, they would come with
her at once to the drawing-room and smoke there, Vera decided that
after all dreams were nonsense. She entered the drawing-room
first, and Mr Bittenger followed her, with Stephen behind; but
just as Stephen was crossing the mat the gardener, holding a
parcel in his hands and looking rather strange there in the hall,
spoke to him. And Stephen stopped and called to Mr Bittenger. And
the drawing-room door was closed upon Vera.

She waited, solitary, for an incredible space of time, and then,
having heard unaccustomed and violent sounds in the distance, she
could contain herself no longer, and she rang the bell.

'Louisa,' she demanded of the parlourmaid, 'where is your master?'

'Oh, ma'am,' replied Louisa, giggling--a little licence was surely
permissible to the girl on Christmas night--'Oh, ma'am, there's
such a to-do! Tinsley has just brought some boxing-gloves, and
master and Mr Bittenger have got their coats off in the dining-
room. And they've had the table pushed up by the door, and you
never saw such a set-out in all your life ma'am.'

Vera dismissed Louisa.

There it was--the dream! They were going to box. Mr Bittenger was
doubtless an expert, and she knew that Stephen was not. A chance
blow by Mr Bittenger in some vital part, and Stephen would be
lying stretched in eternal stillness in the middle of the dining-
room floor where the table ought to be! The life of the monster
was at stake! The life of the brute was in her hands! The dream
was fulfilling itself to the point of tragedy!

She jumped up and rushed to the dining-room door. It would not
open. Again, the dream!

'You can't come in,' cried Stephen, laughing. 'Wait a bit.'

She pushed against the door, working the handle.

She was about to insist upon the door being opened, when the idea
of the danger of such a proceeding occurred to her. In the dream,
when she got the door opened, her husband's death had already
happened!

Frantically she ran to the kitchen.

'Louisa,' she ordered. 'Go into the garden and tap at the dining-
room window, and tell your master that I must speak to him at once
in the drawing-room.'

And in a pitiable state of excitation, she returned to the
drawing-room.

After another interminable period of suspense, her ear caught the
sound of the opening of doors, and then Stephen came into the
drawing-room. A singular apparition! He was coatless, as Louisa
had said, and the extremities of his long arms were bulged out
with cream-coloured boxing-gloves.

She sprang at him and kissed him.

'Steve,' she said, 'are we friends?'

'I should think we were!' he replied, returning her kiss heartily.
He had won.

'What are you doing?' she asked him.

'Bittenger and I are just going to have a real round with the
gloves. It's part of his cure for my indigestion, you know. He
says there's nothing like it. I've only just been able to get
gloves. Tinsley brought them up just now. And so we sort of
thought we'd like to have a go at once.'

'Why wouldn't you let me into the dining-room?'

'My child, the table was up against the door. And I fancied,
perhaps, you wouldn't be exactly charmed, so I--'

'Stephen,' she said, in her most persuasive voice, 'will you do
something to please me?'

'What is it?'

'Will you?'

A pause.

'Yes, certainly.'

'Don't box tonight.'

'Oh--well! What will Bittenger think?'

Another pause.

'Never mind! You don't want me to box, really?'

'I don't want you to box--not tonight.' 'Agreed, my chuck!' And he
kissed her again. He could well afford to be magnanimous.

Mr Bittenger ploughed the seas alone to New York.

But supposing that Vera had not interfered, what would have
happened? That is the unanswerable query which torments the
superstitious little brain of Vera.

Read next: PART VIII - THE BURGLARY: CHAPTER I

Read previous: PART VII - CHAPTER VERA'S SECOND CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE: CHAPTER III

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