She moved as quietly as she could, preparing the turkey for the oven. It was much too big a bird for three people. She wondered what Mr. Kingsley would do with it after the meal was over. Well, she would not worry about that. She was sure he could find some use for the leftovers.

Even as busy as she was, she had momentary pangs of loneliness, being so alone on this most important day of the year. She carefully worked her way through her list of duties, trying to think only ahead to the enjoyment of sharing the meal together. It was almost noon before she heard anyone.

Mr. Kingsley was the first to enter the kitchen. He greeted her, sniffed appreciatively, then asked if she'd made coffee.

Christine set about putting on the pot. Mr. Kingsley pulled up a stool and talked while he waited for the coffee to boil.

"With that new snow last night, roads were a bit slick. Boyd put a dent in his front fender. But then, he says he needs a new car anyway. Thought he could go down and pick one out. For his Christmas present, you know." He laughed goodnaturedly. "He tells me he's already got a favorite. I was thinking Ford-but not my Boyd. He has an eye for the best-that boy. Well, maybe not always the best, but at least the most expensive." He laughed, then said, "Sometimes those two things don't line up right. You ever notice that?"

Christine hadn't-but she didn't shop like the Kingsleys.

Mr. Kingsley poured his own coffee. "Don't expect the boy up for a while. We didn't get to bed very early last night, and he does like his sleep. Been that way since he was a kid. Doesn't get his sleep, he gets cranky." He moved toward the door.

"Think I'll put on a fire. A bit of a chill in the air."

"Would you like something to go with your coffee?" asked Christine. "I made some muffins and there's-"

"Maybe later. I'm sorta used to getting my eyes open with coffee first."

The nine-o'clock curfew loomed when Boyd dropped Christine off at the boardinghouse. He walked her to the door, placing an arm around her shoulders and drawing her as close as he could. The parcels she held in her arms kept them a little distance apart. "Thank you for my first Christmas. First real Christmas," he said and kissed her forehead.

Christine smiled.

"The dinner was absolutely wonderful."

He kissed her again.

"And I loved the tie pin."

A third kiss. Christine began to giggle. "I hope no one's watching."

"I don't care if they are," he said, and he kissed her once more.

"Oh yes, and my father liked his tie." Playfully he leaned to kiss her again, and she pulled away, laughing.

"Thank you-again," she said seriously, "for the beautiful bracelet. I've never had anything so special."

"You deserve lots of special things-because you're so special."

She could not speak, nor could she reach out to him because of her parcels, so she just smiled up into his eyes-all the promises in her heart she could not say aloud.

"I must go," she whispered.

He opened the door for her, gave her a little wave, and closed the door again. She heard his whistle as he made his way to his car.

But later, as she lay curled up to marshal body warmth until her comforter took over, she felt a strange feeling of loneliness. Why do I feel like I've missed something? Like I-didn't even have Christmas? We had a more beautiful tree than I've ever had in my life. I got nicer gifts. The dinner turned out well-even the mincemeat pie. So why? I even went to the Christmas Eve service. Why?

The answer seemed to be whispered to her in the stillness of the night. Things ... trimmings ... gifts-that's not what makes Christmas.

Christine was surprised to feel tears wetting her cheeks. Somehow-in all of the flurry-she had missed the spirit of the wondrous event.

CHAPTER Fifteen.

Christine saw Boyd every evening that week. He usually called and set the time first, but one afternoon he arrived at the office just as she was tidying up her desk. She looked up in surprise. He gave her a big grin and pulled a long-stemmed rose from behind his back. "I'm taking the prettiest girl I know out to dinner tonight," he announced loudly enough for all those nearby to hear. Christine flushed. She was sure she was expected to join in the little game and ask who that might be, but she couldn't make herself say the words.

"And-in case you are wondering who that might be ..." Boyd swung on his heel. "Miss Stout, are you free tonight?"

Laughter rippled through the row of young typists, and the stiff Miss Stout glared.

"I feared not." Boyd shook his head, obviously enjoying her discomfort. "Your calendar is undoubtedly full. Well, in that case, Christine, would you honor me?"

Christine was tempted to agree with Miss Stout. The little speech had not been in good taste. But she could not say so in front of all the office staff. She merely nodded.

He ushered her out. "Where are we going?" she asked. "I'm not dressed for dinner."

"That's why I am taking you home first. You have to tell Mrs. What's-her-name, don't you, that you won't be eating at her table tonight? And I want you to put on your fanciest attire."

"I don't have any fancy attire," objected Christine.

"Then maybe we should get you some."

Christine was horrified. She was not about to let a young man buy her clothing-even if he did appear to have more money than he knew what to do with.

"You'll look just fine in something you have," he said, giving her elbow a squeeze. "Wear that pretty blue dress. I love what it does to your eyes."

She nodded. She'd wear the blue one.

"And pin your hair up," he added, flicking one of her curls with a finger. "No-wear it down, about your face. No pins. No clips. Nothing. I love seeing it hang free like that."

She merely nodded again. He had never told her how to wear her hair before.

He took her to a new restaurant-at least new to her. It was by far the nicest place she had ever eaten. The ambiance suited Boyd's unusual mood. Grandeur. Opulence. Patrons with furs and finery. Christine sat back and sighed deeply, enjoying the luxury and the scented candlelight and soft music. But when he suggested wine to celebrate the evening, she stiffened and shook her head.

"You might discover you like it if you'd give it a try," he prompted.

She shook her head again. "I guess we'll not be finding out." She felt a bit hurt that he continued to press when she had already made her position clear on the subject.

"Do you mind if I have a glass?"

Christine did, but she shrugged her shoulders. "Suit yourself."

He ordered wine. Then he discussed the dinner with the waiter. Christine gathered that everything would be taken care of. She leaned back against the heavy plush of the secluded booth and let her eyes roam over the surroundings.

I can quite understand how folks could get to like this, she thought.

The meal was as good as it looked. Christine really did not care for the shrimp cocktail, but she did enjoy the sauce on the leg of lamb. She tried not to think about where the meat had come from. Little lambs belonged in green flower-dotted meadows, not on dinner plates.

The dessert was a fancy kind of flambe. Christine gasped as she watched the whole bowl go up in flames, thinking the server had made some dreadful mistake. Boyd laughed.

When they had finished the meal, Boyd ordered another glass of wine and moved closer to Christine. He reached out a hand and touched a tendril of her hair. "Enjoy?" he asked, leaning toward her.

She nodded, feeling rather dreamy. "And I couldn't eat another bite," she laughed. "It's been very special. Thank you. Is this ... is this your going-away gift to me?"

"Going away?"

"Back to college? You aren't leaving early, are you?"

He picked up her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. "No. I'm not going early. In fact, I've been thinking ... I don't believe I'll go back at all."

Even in her languid state, Christine was shocked.

"I've had my college kick," he explained.

"What will you do?" she had to ask even as she wondered if she should.

He leaned back a bit and took a sip from his glass. When he set it down he spoke again, still toying with her hair. "Been thinking about joining Dad. He's been rather anxious for me to get involved. I've been putting him off ... but ... well ... I'm beginning to change my views."

Christine smiled at him. It would be nice to have him back home ... so close. But she wondered if she'd be able to keep her mind on her work with him in the office.

"I've been thinking about some other things too."

"Like?" she prompted when he hesitated.

"You and me. What life would be like if we were together."

Christine's breath caught in her throat. "Are you suggesting-?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Christine. I'm asking-beg-ging-if I have to. I really need you. I've never met anyone like you. Please. Will you marry me, Christine?"

"Are you-?"

"Serious? I've never been more serious."

"I was going to say, 'Are you sure?'"

"I'm sure. Absolutely sure."

Christine's heart was thumping. She could not believe it. Boyd Kingsley-the Boyd Kingsley, every girl's dream-was actually asking her to marry him.

Suddenly she looked at him from beneath her long eyelashes and whispered, "What are the magic words?"

He seemed taken aback. "I already said please. Please, will you marry me?"

She shook her head. "No, the other magic words."

He leaned forward until his lips were almost brushing her cheek. "I love you. Really. I love you." He understood.

She took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against his chin. "In that case," she said, her heart singing, "the answer is yes.

Elizabeth was glad she was able to sit down at the table when Christine's call came.

"Oh, Mother," she exclaimed when Elizabeth answered the phone, "I couldn't wait to tell you. Guess what?" she sang over the wires. "I'm engaged."

"But ... we don't even know him," Elizabeth protested, trying to keep her dismay out of her voice.

"He's wonderful. You'll love him."

It took Elizabeth a few moments to get her breath back. In the meantime Christine hurried on over her mother's silence. "He took me to this wonderful restaurant, and we had the most magnificent meal. And my diamond! You should see it, Mother. It's huge. All the girls are envious. And he isn't going back to school. He's going to stay right here and work for his father. We'll-"

"Slow down-please. You are going much too fast for me," Elizabeth finally was able to interject.

Christine laughed, sounding giddy with excitement.

They did eventually manage to have a two-way conversation. But even so, as Elizabeth hung up the receiver she felt shaken. She could not stand around waiting for Wynn to arrive home. She grabbed her coat, pushed the waiting meal to the back of the stove, and went to meet him.

He looked surprised when he saw her coming toward him. "This is a nice treat," he said and reached out to take her hand.

Highly agitated, she poured out the entire exchange with Christine as they walked home together.

"I'm sure he's a fine young man," he said consolingly.

"We don't even know him. And she's so young. Only eighteen."

"Lots of girls are married at eighteen. Besides-they might plan on a long engagement."

. "Oh ... I certainly hope so. Well, I don't know..." Her uncertainty and distress about the whole situation made her chest hurt and her head ache.

"Why don't we see if they can make a trip here?" Wynn suggested, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I already tried that. Christine says they can't right now. He'll be busy learning his father's business. I asked about Easter. She said he had already made some plans."

"We'll work out something," Wynn said thoughtfully.

They were almost home when he turned to her. "What if you go visit them? You haven't been on a trip for an age."

She brightened, then sobered again. "Christine might think I'm checking on her."

"Well... ?" He laughed.

She gave his hand a playful tug. Then, turning serious, she said, "I don't want to alienate her."