"
"Are you, too, a Christian?" he asked of Joan.
"Not yet," answered Joan. "But I hope to be, one day." She spoke
without thinking, not quite knowing what she meant. But it came back to
her in after years.
The talk grew lighter under the influence of Mary's cooking. Mr.
Baptiste could be interesting when he got away from his fanaticism; and
even the apostolic Mr. Simson had sometimes noticed humour when it had
chanced his way.
A message came for Mary about ten o'clock, brought by a scared little
girl, who whispered it to her at the door. Mary apologized. She had to
go out. The party broke up. Mary disappeared into the next room and
returned in a shawl and bonnet, carrying a small brown paper parcel. Joan
walked with her as far as the King's Road.
"A little child is coming," she confided to Joan. She was quite excited
about it.
Joan thought. "It's curious," she said, "one so seldom hears of anybody
being born on Christmas Day."
They were passing a lamp. Joan had never seen a face look quite so happy
as Mary's looked, just then.
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