CHAPTER XVI
CHRISTMAS AT THE MANOR
Christmas without Jimmie was, for Robin, a thing not to think about. And
from Beryl, inasmuch as that young lady affected a stoical indifference
to the holiday, she could get little sympathy. Beryl had shocked her
with the heresy: "Christmas is just for rich people, anyway."
"It is not. Oh, it isn't," Robin had cried in remonstrance. But she
could not tell of her and Jimmie's happy Christ-days without giving way
to the tears which, at the thought, scalded the backs of her eyes. It
had not been alone the holly and pine of the shop windows, or the simple
gifts Jimmie's loyal and more fortunate friends brought, or the usual
merry feast that had made them happy; it had been a deep and beautiful
understanding of the Infinite Love that had given the Christ-child to
the world, that Love which surpassed even Jimmie's love for her or hers
for Jimmie, and that was hers and everyone elses. She had felt it first
when, a very little girl, she had gone, once, with Jimmie into the
purple shadows of a great church, where the air was sweet with incense
and vibrating with the muted notes of an organ.
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