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“And it’s going to be a real Christmas Eve party old fashioned you know; with an open fire, and ghost stories, and punch with baked apples in it, and ”
“And a flash-light!”
“No; what fun! What a lovely idea! Was it one of Candace’s?”
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“I think it was. She wants a record of the evening, and we are all to have copies of the pictures to keep as souvenirs.”
They were all merry, and chattered like young birds, all except Myra Randall. She smiled, and was cheerful enough in a way, but she had never seemed quite carefree since the breaking of her engagement to Max Atwood, two years before.