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It was his dinner. He, and
not Natalie, arranged the seating, ordered the flowers, and planned
the menu. He took considerable pride in it; he liked to think that
it was both beautiful and dignified. His father had been president
before him, and he liked to think that he was carrying on his
father's custom with the punctilious dignity that had so
characterized him.
He was dressed early. Natalie had been closeted with Madeleine,
her maid, and a hair-dresser, for hours. As he went down-stairs
he could hear her voice raised in querulous protest about something.
When he went into the library Buckham was there stooping over the
fire, his austere old face serious and intent.
"Well, another year almost gone, Buckham!" he said.
"Yes, Mr. Spencer."
"It would be interesting to know what the New-year holds."
"I hope it will bring you peace and happiness, sir."
"Thank you."
And after Buckham had gone he thought that rather a curious
New-year's wish. Peace and happiness! Well, God knows he wanted
both.


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