"If you will tell me of whom you are talking I will tell you whether
or not I know him. Until you do--"

"I told you I didn't remember any of his name but the Van part. Don't
you know the name of the person you love best on earth? It's his name
I want."

Frances Barbour got up and walked over to the bureau and opened its
top drawer. "You are asking questions that in any one else I would not
permit, Carmencita. I am sure you do not mean to be--"

"I don't mean anything but that I want to know all of Mr. Van's name,
and if you don't tell me you are not a Christian!"

With a change of expression Carmencita sprang to her feet and, hands
clasped behind her back, she stood erect, her eyes blazing with
indignation. "If you don't tell him where you are, don't let him come,
I'll think it's all just make-believe and put on, your coming and
doing for people you don't really and truly know, and doing nothing
for those you do, and letting the ones you love best be lonely and
miserable and having Christmas all by themselves when they're starving
hungry for you. What is his name?" Carmencita's voice was high and
shrill, and her foot was stamped vehemently. "What is his name?"

"Stephen Van Landing."

Face to face, Frances Barbour and Carmencita looked into each other's
eyes, then with a leap Carmencita was out of the room and down the
steps and at the telephone. With hands that trembled she turned the