He turned back and went home. He had promised to have tea at the
Vicarage, and he found Mrs. Trenchard putting holly over the pictures in
the little dark square hall. She looked as though she had always been
there, and as though, in some curious way, the holly, with its bright
red berries, especially belonged to her.
She asked him to help her, and Seymour thought that he must have known
her all his life. She had a tranquil, restful air, but, now and then,
hummed a little tune. She was very tidy as she moved about, picking up
little scraps of holly. A row of pins shone in her green dress. After a
while they went upstairs and hung holly in the passages.
Seymour had turned his back to her and was balanced on a little ladder,
when he heard her utter a sharp little cry.
"The nursery door's open," she said. He turned, and saw very clearly,
against the half-light, her startled eyes. Her hands were pressed
against her dress and holly had fallen at her feet. He saw, too, that
the nursery door was ajar.
"I locked it myself, yesterday; you saw me."
She gasped as though she had been running, and he saw that her face was
white.
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