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Updated: May 13, 2025
There was a flutter of wings, in the room. A robin hopped in at the window and perched daintily on the table-ledge, its delicate claws outlined against the whiteness of the dust-sheet, its head inquisitively on one side, as if it were asking the reason of the musician's unusual silence.
At ten O'clock the room is cleared, the dust-sheet which was laid down for the children's scramble is taken up, and all the papers and shavings, boxes and baskets that contained presents are removed from the floor; the table is spread with a white table-cloth; 'letterbanket' with hot punch or milk chocolate is provided for the guests; and, when all have taken their seats, a dish of boiled chestnuts, steaming hot, is brought in and eaten with butter and salt.
All the familiar tapestries and cushions and rare knick-knacks which wontedly converted the further end of it into a charming reception room were gone. The chairs were covered in plain holland, the piano sheeted. But the big easel, standing like a tall cross in the cold north light, was swathed in a dust-sheet. Gillian's heart misgave her. Was she too late? Had Michael gone away?
She dropped down into a chair, and the impress of her body dragged the dust-sheet from its gilt arms, exposing them. She put her face in her hands and sobbed. "You're awfully cruel!" she murmured thickly. The sobs continued, shaking her body. She was beautifully dressed. Her shoes were adorable, and the semi-transparent hose over her fine ankles.
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