The Love Affairs of Pixie, by Mrs George de Horne Vaizey. 

________________________________________________________________________Here we have yet again the lovable Pixie, the youngest child of theO'Shaughnessy family, who had all been brought up at Knock Castle, inIreland, and about whom two previous books have been written. None ofthe family can quite get their minds round the fact that Pixie is nowold enough to have affairs, and even to marry, especially as they areall aware how very plain she is. 

But Pixie has other ideas. She becomes engaged to Stanor Vaughan, avery good-looking young rising businessman, whose very rich butdisabled uncle is his guardian. The uncle suggests that Stanor shouldgo to America for a couple of years, to become a bit more mature. 

Meanwhile there is very nasty and sudden accident to little Jack, anangelic little boy, whom everybody adores. Will he survive?

Eventually Stanor returns to London. But things have sorted themselvesout rather better than we would have thought after the first fewchapters. 

This book was printed in a very heavy type on thinnish paper. It was amistake to scan it on the default brightness setting, and it was verydifficult to clean out all the misreads. There may yet be a few, butnot many, I hope. These will be taken out eventually, I hope. 

________________________________________________________________________THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF PIXIE, BY MRS GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

THE QUESTION OF NOSES. 

When Pixie O'Shaughnessy had reached her twentieth birthday it was bornein upon her with the nature of a shock that she was not beautiful. Hitherto a buoyant and innocent self-satisfaction, coupled with theatmosphere of love and admiration by which she was surrounded in thefamily circle, had succeeded in blinding her eyes to the very obviousdefects of feature which the mirror portrayed. But suddenly, sharply, her eyes were opened. 

"Did it ever occur to you, Bridgie, my dear, that I've grown-up_plain_?" she demanded of her sister, Mrs Victor, as the two sat by thefire one winter afternoon, partaking luxuriously of strong tea andpotato cakes, and at the sound of such a surprising question Mrs Victorstarted as if a crack of thunder had suddenly pealed through the quietroom. She stared in amazement; her big, grey eyes widened dramatically. 

"My good child, " she demanded sternly, "whatever made you think ofasking such a preposterous question?"

"'Twas borne in on me!" sighed Pixie sadly. "It's the way with life; yego jog-trotting along, blind and cheerful, until suddenly ye bang yourhead against a wall, and your eyes are opened! 'Twas the same with me. I looked at myself every day, but I never saw. Habit, my dear, blindfolded me like a bandage, and looking at good-looking people allday long it seemed only natural that I should look nice too. But thismorning the sun shone, and I stood before the glass twisting about totry on my new hat, and, Bridgie, the truth was revealed! _My nose_!"

"What's the matter with your nose?" demanded Mrs Victor. Her ownsweet, delicately cut face was flushed with anger, and she sat withstiffened back staring across the fireplace as if demanding compensationfor a personal injury. 

Pixie sighed, and helped herself to another slice of potato cake. 

"It scoops!" she said plaintively. "As you love me, Bridgie, can youdeny it scoops?" And as if to illustrate the truth of her words shetwisted her head so as to present her little profile for her sister'sinspection. 

Truly it was not a classic outline! Sketched in bare outline it wouldhave lacerated an artist's eye, but then more things than line go to themaking up a girlish face: there is youth, for instance, and a bloomingcomplexion; there is vivacity, and sweetness, and an intangiblesomething which for want of a better name we call "charm. " Mrs Victorbeheld all these attributes in her sister's face, and her eyes softenedas they looked, but her voice was still resentful. 

"Of course it scoops. It always _did_ scoop. I like it to scoop. "

"I like them straight!" persisted Pixie. "And it isn't as if it stoppedat the nose. There's my mouth--"

Bridgie's laugh had a tender, reminiscent ring. 

"The Mammoth Cave of Kentucky! D'you remember the Major's old name? Hewas _proud_ of your mouth. And you had no chin as a child. You oughtto be thankful, Pixie, that you've grown to a chin!"

"I am, " cried Pixie with unction. "It would be awful to slope down intoyour neck. All the same, me dear, if it was my eyes that were bigger, and my mouth that was smaller, it would be better for all concerned. "She was silent for some moments, staring thoughtfully in the fire. Fromtime to time she frowned, and from time to time she smiled; Bridgiedivined that a thought was working, and lay back in her seat, amusedlywatching its development. "There's a place in Paris, " continued Pixiethoughtfully at last, "an institute sort of place, where they repairnoses! You sort of go in, and they look at you, and there are modelsand drawings, and _you choose your nose_! The manager is an expert, andif you choose a wrong style he advises, and says another would suit youbetter. I'd love a Greek one myself; it's so _chic_ to float downstraight from the forehead, but I expect he'd advise a blend thatwouldn't look too _epatant_ with my other features. --It takes afortnight, and it doesn't hurt. Your nose is gelatine, not bone; and itcosts fifty pounds. "

"Wicked waste!" cried Mrs Victor, with all the fervour of a matronwhose own nose is beyond reproach. "Fifty pounds on a nose! I neverheard of such foolish extravagance. "

"Esmeralda paid eighty for a sealskin coat. A nose would last for life, while if a single moth got inside the brown paper--whew!" Pixie wavedher hands with the Frenchiness of gesture which was the outcome of aneducation abroad, and which made an amusing contrast with an Irishaccent, unusually pronounced. "I'd think nothing of running over toParis for a fortnight's jaunt, and having the nose thrown in. Fancy mewalking in on you all, before you'd well realised I was away, smart andsmiling with a profile like Clytie, or a sweet little acquiline, or aneat and wavey one, like your own. You wouldn't know me!"

"I shouldn't!" said Bridgie eloquently. 

"Now let's pretend!" Pixie hitched her chair nearer to the fire, andplaced her little feet on the fender with an air of intense enjoyment. In truth, tea-time, and the opportunity which it gave of undisturbedparleys with Bridgie, ranked as one of the great occasions of life. Every day there seemed something fresh and exciting to discuss, and thegame of "pretend" made unfailing appeal to the happy Irish natures, butit was not often that such an original and thrilling topic came underdiscussion. A repaired nose! Pixie warmed to the theme with the zestof a skilled _raconteur_. ... "You'd be sitting here, and I'd walk inin my hat and veil--a new-fashioned scriggley veil, as a sort of screen. We'd kiss. If it was a long kiss, you'd feel the point, beingaccustomed to a button, and that would give it away, but I'd make itshort so you'd notice nothing, and I'd sit down with my back to thelight, and we'd talk. `Take off your hat, ' you'd say. `In a moment, 'I'd answer. `Not yet, me dear, my hair's untidy. ' `You look like avisitor, ' you'd say, `with your veil drawn down. ' `It's a French one, 'I'd say. `It becomes me, doesn't it? Three francs fifty, ' and you'dfrown, and stare, and say, `_Does_ it? I don't know! You look--different, Pixie. You don't look--yourself!'"

The real Pixie gurgled with enjoyment, and Bridgie Victor gurgled inresponse. 

"Then I'd protest, and ask what was the matter, and say if there _was_anything, it must be the veil, and if there _was_ a change wasn't ithonestly for the better, and I'd push up my veil and smile at you; smilelanguidly across the room. I can see your face, poor darling! Allscared and starey, while I turned round s-lowly, s-lowly, until I wassideways towards you, with me elegant Grecian nose... "

Bridgie shuddered. 

"I'd not live through it! It would break my heart. With a Grecian noseyou might be Patricia, but you couldn't possibly be Pixie. It's toohorrible to think of!"

But Pixie had in her nature a reserve of obstinacy, and in absolutelygood-natured fashion could "hang on" to a point through any amount ofdiscouragement. 

"Now, since you mention it, that's another argument in my favour, " shesaid quickly. "It's hard on a girl of twenty to be bereft of her legalname because of incompatibility with her features. Now, with a Greciannose--"

Bridgie sat up suddenly, and cleared her throat. The time had come toremember her own position as married sister and guardian, and put a stopto frivolous imaginings. 

"May I ask, " she demanded clearly, "exactly in what manner you wouldpropose to raise the fifty pounds? Your nose is your own to do what youlike with--or will be at the end of another year--but--"

"The fifty pounds isn't! I know it, " said Pixie. She did not sigh, aswould have seemed appropriate at such a moment, but exhibited rather acheerful and gratified air, as though her own poverty were an amusingpeculiarity which added to the list of her attractions. 

"Of course, my dear, nobody ever dreamt for a moment it could be _done_, but it's always interesting to pretend. Don't we amuse ourselves forhours pretending to be millionaires, when you're all of a flutter abouteighteen-pence extra in the laundry bill? I wonder at _you_, Bridgie, pretending to be practical. "

"I'm sorry, " said Bridgie humbly. A pang of conscience pierced herheart, for had it not been her own extravagance which had swelled thelaundry bill by that terrible eighteen-pence? Penitence engendered amore tender spirit, and she said gently--

"We love your looks, Pixie. To us you seem lovely and beautiful. "

"Bless your blind eyes! I know I do. But, " added Pixie astonishingly, "I wasn't thinking of you!"

"_Not_!" A moment followed of sheer, gaping surprise, for BridgieVictor was so accustomed to the devotion of her young sister, soplacidly, assured that the quiet family life furnished the girl with, everything necessary for her happiness, that the suggestion of anoutside interest came as a shock. "_Not_!" she repeated blankly. "Then--then--who?"

"My lovers!" replied Pixie calmly. 

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And looking back through the years, it always seemed to Bridgie Victorthat with the utterance of those words the life of Pixie O'Shaughnessyentered upon a new and absorbing phase. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

PIXIE'S VIEWS ON MARRIAGE. 

Bridgie Victor sat gazing at her sister in a numb bewilderment. It wasthe first, the very first time that the girl had breathed a wordconcerning the romantic possibilities of her own life, and evenBridgie's trained imagination failed to rise to the occasion. Pixie!Lovers! Lovers! Pixie! ... The juxtaposition of ideas was toopreposterous to be grasped. Pixie was a child, the baby of the family, just a bigger, more entertaining baby to play with the tinies of thesecond generation, who treated her as one of themselves, and one and allscorned to bestow the title of "aunt. "

There was a young Patricia in the nursery at Knock Castle, and a secondedition in the Victor nursery upstairs; but though the baptismal name ofthe little sister had been copied, not even the adoring mothersthemselves would have dreamed of borrowing the beloved pet name, Pixie'snose might not be to her approval; it might even scoop--to be perfectlycandid, it _did_ scoop--but it had never yet been put out of joint. Theone and only, the inimitable Pixie, she still lived enthroned in thehearts of her brothers and sisters, as something specially andpeculiarly their own. 

So it was that a pang rent Bridgie's heart at the realisation that thelittle sister was grown-up, was actually twenty years of age--pasttwenty, going to be twenty-one in a few more months, and that the timewas approaching when a stranger might have the audacity to steal herfrom the fold. To her own heart, Bridgie realised the likelihood ofsuch a theft, and the naturalness thereof: outwardly, for Pixie'sbenefit she appeared shocked to death. 

"L-lovers!" gasped Bridgie. "Lovers! Is it you, Pixie O'Shaughnessy, Ihear talking of such things? I'm surprised; I'm shocked! I never couldhave believed you troubled your head about such matters. "

"But I do, " asserted Pixie cheerfully. "Lots. Not to say _trouble_, exactly, for it's most agreeable. I pretend about them, and decide whatthey'll be like. When I see a man that takes my fancy, I add him to thelist. Mostly they're clean-shaved, but I saw one the other day with abeard--" She lifted a warning finger to stay Bridgie's cry of protest. "Not a straggler, but a naval one, short and trim; and you wouldn'tbelieve how becoming it was! I decided then to have one with a beard. And they are mostly tall and handsome, and rolling in riches, so that Ican buy anything I like, nose included. But one must be poor and sad, because that, " announced Pixie, in her most radiant fashion, "would begood for my character. I'd be sorry for him, the creature! And, asthey say in books, 'twould soften me. Would you say honestly, now, Bridgie, that I'm in _need_ of softening?"

"I should not. I should say you were soft enough already. _Too_ soft!"declared Bridgie sternly. "`Them, ' indeed! Plural, I'll trouble you!Just realise, my child, that there are not enough men to go round, anddon't waste time making pictures of a chorus who will never appear. Ifyou have _one_ lover, it will be more than your share; and it's doubtfulif you ever get that. "

"I doubt it, " maintained Pixie sturdily. "I'm plain, but I've a way. You know yourself, me dear, I've a way! ... I'm afraid I'll have lots;and that's the trouble of it, for as sure as you're there, Bridgie, I'llaccept them all! 'Twouldn't be in my heart to say no, with a nice manbegging to be allowed to take care of me. I'd love him on the spot forbeing so kind; or if I didn't, and I saw him upset, it would seem onlydecent to comfort him, so 'twould end the same way. ... It breaks myheart when the girls refuse the nice man in books, and I always long tobe able to run after him when he leaves the room--ashy pale, with anerve twitching beside his eye--and ask him will I do instead! If Ifeel like that to another girl's lover, what will I do to my own?"

Bridgie stared aghast. Her brain was still reeling from the shock ofhearing Pixie refer to the subject of lovers at all, and here was yetanother problem looming ahead. With a loving grasp of her sister'scharacter, she realised that the protestations to which she had justlistened embodied a real danger. Pixie had always been "thesoft-heartedest creature, " who had never from her earliest years beenknown to refuse a plea for help. It would only be in keeping with hercharacter if she accepted a suitor out of pure politeness andunwillingness to hurt his feelings. Bridgie was a happy wife, and forthat very reason was determined that if care and guidance, if authority, and persuasion, and precept, and a judicious amount of influence coulddo it, Pixie should never be married, unless it were to the right man. She therefore adopted her elderly attitude once more, and said firmly--

"It's very wicked and misguided even to talk in such a way. When thetime comes that a man asks you to marry him--if it ever comes--it willbe your first and foremost duty to examine your own heart and see if youlove him enough to live with him all his life, whether he is ill orwell, or rich or poor, or happy or sad. You will have to decide whetheryou would be happier with him in trouble or free by yourself, and you'dhave to remember that it's not always too easy managing a house, and--and walking about half the night with a teething baby, and darningsocks, when you want to go out, and wearing the same dress three yearsrunning, even if you love the man you've married. Of course, some girlsmarry rich husbands--like Esmeralda; but that's rare. Far more youngcouples begin as we did, with having to be careful about every shilling;and that, my dear, is _not_ agreeable! You need to be _very_ fond of aman to make it worth while to go on short commons all your life. Youneed to think things over very carefully, before you accept an offer ofmarriage. "

Pixie sat listening, her head cocked to one side, with the air of abright, intelligent bird. When Bridgie had finished speaking she sighedand knitted her brows, and stared thoughtfully into the fire. It wasobvious that she was pondering over what had been said, and did not findherself altogether in agreement with the rules laid down. 

"You mean, " she said slowly, "that I should have to think altogether of_myself_ and what would suit _Me_ and make _me_ happy? That's strange, now; that's very strange! To bring a girl up all her life to believeit's her duty in every small thing that comes along to put herself lastand her family in front, and then when she's a grown-up woman, and a mancomes along who believes, poor thing! that she could help him and makehim happy, _then_ just at that moment you tell her to be selfish andthink only of herself. ... 'Tis not that way I'll conduct my loveaffairs!" cried Pixie O'Shaughnessy. Her eyes met Bridgie's, andflashed defiance. "When I meet a man who needs me I'll find my ownhappiness in helping _him_!"

"Bless you, darling!" said Bridgie softly. "I am quite sure you will.... It's a very, very serious time for a woman when the question ofmarriage comes into her life. You can't treat it _too_ seriously. Ihave not thought of it so far in connection with you, but now that I doI'll pray about it, Pixie! I'll pray for you, that you may be guided toa right choice. You'll pray that for yourself, won't you, dear?"

"I will, " said Pixie quietly. "I do. And for him--the man I may marry. I've prayed for him quite a long time. "

"The ... The _man_!" Bridgie was so surprised as to appear almostshocked. "My dear, you don't know him!"

"But he is alive, isn't he? He must be, if I'm going to marry him. Alive, and grown-up, and living, perhaps, not so far away. Perhaps he'san orphan, Bridgie; or if he has a home, perhaps he's had to leave itand live in a strange town. ... Perhaps he's in lodgings, going homeevery night to sit alone in a room. Perhaps he's trying to be good, andfinding it very hard. Perhaps there's no one in all the world to prayfor him but just me. _Bridgie_! If I'm going to love him how can I_not_ pray?"

Mrs Victor rose hurriedly from her seat, and busied herself with thearrangement of the curtains. They were heavy velvet curtains, which atnight-time drew round the whole of the large bay window which formed theend of the pretty, cosy room. Bridgie took especial pleasure in theeffect of a great brass vase which, on its oaken pedestal, stood sharplyoutlined against the rich, dark folds. She moved its position now, moved it back into its original place, and touched the leaves of thechrysanthemum which stood therein with a caressing hand. Six years'residence in a town had not sufficed to teach the one-time mistress ofKnock Castle to be economical when purchasing flowers. "I can't livewithout them. It's not my fault if they are dear!" she would protest toher own conscience at the sight of the florist's bill. 

And in truth, who could expect a girl to be content with a few scantblossoms when she had lived all her early age in the midst of prodigalplenty! In spring the fields had been white with snowdrops. Sylviasent over small packing-cases every February, filled with hundreds andhundreds of little tight bunches of the spotless white flowers, andalmost every woman of Bridgie's acquaintance rejoiced with her on theirarrival. After the snowdrops came on the wild daffodils and bluebellsand primroses. They arrived in cases also, fragrant with the scentwhich was really no scent at all, but just the incarnation of everythingfresh, and pure, and rural. Then came the blossoming of trees. Bridgiesighed whenever she thought of blossom, for that was one thing whichwould _not_ pack; and the want of greenery too, that was another crossto the city dweller. She longed to break off great branches of trees, and place them in corners of the room; she longed to wander into thefields and pick handfuls of grasses, and honeysuckle, and prickly briarsprays. Who could blame her for taking advantage of what compensationlay within reach?

This afternoon, however, the contemplation of the tawny chrysanthemumsdisplayed in the brass vase failed to inspire the usual joy. Bridgie'seyes were bright indeed as she turned back into the room, but it was thesort of brightness which betokens tears repressed. She laid her hand onthe little sister's shoulders, and spoke in the deepest tone of hertender Irish voice--

"What has been happening to you, my Pixie, all this time when I've beentreating you as a child? Have you been growing up quietly into a littlewoman?"

Pixie smiled up into her face--a bright, unclouded smile. 

"Faith, " she said, radiantly, "I believe. I have!"

CHAPTER THREE. 

NEARLY TWENTY-ONE!

Bridgie rang the bell to have the tea-things removed and a message sentto the nursery that the children might descend without further delay. It was still a few minutes before the orthodox hour, but theconversation had reached a point when a distraction would be welcome, and Jack and Patsie were invariably prancing with impatience from themoment when the smell of hot potato cakes ascended from below. 

They came with a rush, pattering down the staircase with a speed whichmade Bridgie gasp and groan, and bursting open the door entered the roomat the double. Jack was five, and wore a blue tunic with an exceedinglylong-waisted belt, beneath which could be discerned the hems ofabbreviated knickers. Patricia was three, and wore a limp white frockreaching to the tips of little red shoes. She had long brown locks, andeyes of the true O'Shaughnessy grey, and was proudly supposed toresemble her beautiful aunt Joan. Jack was fair, with linty locks and ajolly brown face. His mouth might have been smaller and still attaineda fair average in size, but for the time being his pretty baby teethfilled the cavern so satisfactorily, that no one could complain. 

Both children made straight for their mother, smothered her with"Bunnie" hugs, and then from the shelter of her arms cast quick, questioning glances across the fireplace. There was in their glance akeenness, a curiosity, almost amounting to _awe_, which would at oncehave arrested the attention of an onlooker. It was not in the least thesmiling glance of recognition which is accorded to a member of thehousehold on meeting again after one of the short separations of theday; it resembled far more the half-nervous, half-pleasurable shrinkingfrom an introduction to a stranger, about whom was wrapped a cloak ofdeepest mystery. As for Pixie herself she sat bolt upright in her seat, staring fixedly into space, and apparently unconscious of the children'spresence. 

Presently Jack took a tentative step forward, and Patsie followed in hiswake. Half a yard from Pixie's chair they stopped short with eager, craning faces, with bodies braced in readiness for a flying retreat. 

"Pixie!"

No answer. Still the rigid, immovable figure. Still the fixed andstaring eye. 

"P-ixie!"

The eyes rolled; a deep, hollow voice boomed forth--

"I'm _not_ Pixie!"

The expected had happened. They had known it was coming; would havebeen bitterly disappointed if it had failed, nevertheless they writhedand capered as though overcome with amazement. 

"P-ixie, Pixie, Who--Are--You--Now?"

"I'm a wild buffalo of the plains!" answered Pixie unexpectedly, and asa wild buffalo she comported herself for the next half-hour, ambling onhands and knees round the room, while the children wreathed her neckwith impromptu garlands made of wools from their mother's work-basket, and made votive offerings of sofa cushions, footstools, and india-rubbertoys. 

In the midst of the uproar Bridgie jumped from her seat and flew to thedoor, her ears sharp as ever to hear the click of her husband'slatch-key. The greeting in the narrow hall was delightfully lover-likefor a married couple of six years' standing, and they entered thedrawing-room arm-in-arm, smiling with a contentment charming to witness. Captain Victor was satisfied that no one in the world possessed such analtogether delightful specimen of womanhood as his "bride. " She was sosweet, so good, so unselfish, and in addition to these sterlingqualities, she was so cheerful, so spontaneous, so unexpected, that itwas impossible for life to grow dull and monotonous while she was at thehead of the household. 

He acknowledged tenderly, and with a shrug of the shoulders to expressresignation, that she _might_ have been a cleverer housekeeper and justa thought more economical in expenditure! but considering herhappy-go-lucky upbringing under the most thriftless of fathers, thedarling really deserved more praise for what she accomplished than blamefor what was left undone. 

Bridgie, on the contrary, considered that Dick worried his headridiculously about ways and means. Not for the world and all that itcontained would she have accused him of being _mean_: she merelyshrugged _her_ shoulders and reminded herself that he was English, poorthing! English people had a preference for seeing money visibly intheir purses before they spent it, while she herself had been brought upin a cheerful confidence that it would "turn up" somehow to pay thebills which had been incurred in faith. 

Captain Victor displayed not the faintest astonishment at discoveringhis sister-in-law on all fours, nor did he appear overcome to beintroduced to her as a buffalo of the plains. He smiled at her almostas tenderly as at his own babies, and said--

"How do, Buff! Pleased to have met you. So kind of you to make hay inmy drawing-room, " which reproof brought Pixie quickly to her rightfulposition. That was another English characteristic of Dick Victor--hehated disorder, and was not appreciative of uproar on his return from aday's work. Therefore there were picture-books in waiting for hisreturn, and after a few minutes parleying Pixie cajoled the childreninto the dining-room on the plea of a bigger and more convenient tablefor the display of their treasures, leaving the husband and wife alone. 

Dick lay back in his easy chair, and stretched himself with aninvoluntary sigh of relief. He was devoted to his children, but a quietchat with Bridgie was the treat _par excellence_ at this hour of the daywhen he was tired and in need of rest. He stretched out a hand towardsher, and she stroked it with gentle fingers. 

"Ye're tired, dear. Will I get you a cup of tea? It's not long sinceit went out. If I poured some hot-water in the pot... "

Dick shuddered. 

"Thank you, ma'am, _no_! If I have any, I'll have it fresh, but I don'tcare about it to-day. It's nice just to rest and talk. Anythinghappened to you to-day?"

"There always does. It's the most exciting thing in the world to be themistress of a household, " said Bridgie, with relish. There were fewdays when Captain Victor was not treated to a history of accidents andcontretemps on his return home, but unlike most husbands he ratheranticipated than dreaded the recital, for Bridgie so evidently enjoyedit herself, taking a keen retrospective joy over past discomfitures. 

The Victor household had its own share of vicissitudes, more than itsshare perhaps, but through them all there survived a spirit ofkindliness and good fellowship which took away more than half thestrain. Maidservants arriving in moods of suspicion and antagonismfound themselves unconsciously unarmed by the cheery, kindly youngmistress, who administered praise more readily than blame, and so farfrom "giving herself airs" treated them with friendly kindliness andconsideration. On the very rare occasions when a girl was poor-spiritedenough to persist in her antagonism, off she went with a month's moneyin her pocket, for the peace of her little home was the greatesttreasure in the world to Bridgie Victor, and no hireling could beallowed to disturb it. The service in the little house might not be asmechanically perfect as in some others, the meals might vary inexcellence, but that was a secondary affair. "If a bad temper is anecessary accompaniment of a good cook, then--give me herbs!" she wouldcry, shrugging her pretty shoulders, and her husband agreed--withreservations!

He was a very happy, a very contented man, and every day of his life hethanked God afresh for his happy home, for his children, for thegreatest treasure of all, sweet Bridget, his wife!

To-day, however, the disclosure had nothing to do with domesticrevolutions, and Bridgie's tone in making her announcement held anunusual note of tragedy. 

"Dick, guess what! You'll never guess! Pixie's grown-up!"

For a moment Captain Victor looked as was expected of him--utterlybewildered. He lay back in his chair, his handsome face blank andexpressionless, the while he stared steadily at his wife, and Bridgiestared back, her distress palpably mingled with complacence. Speak shewould not, until Dick had given expression to his surprise. She satstill, therefore, shaking her head in a melancholy mandarin fashion, which had the undesired effect of restoring his complacence. 

"My darling, what unnecessary woe! It's astounding, I grant you; onenever expected such a feat of Pixie; but the years _will_ pass--there'sno holding them, unfortunately. How old is she, by the way? Seventeen, I suppose--eighteen?"

"_Twenty_--nearly twenty-one!"

Bridgie's tone was tragic, and Dick Victor in his turn looked startledand grave. He frowned, bit his lip, and stared thoughtfully across theroom. 

"Twenty-one? Is it possible? Grown-up, indeed! Bridgie, we shouldhave realised this before. We have been so content with things as theywere that we've been selfishly blind. If Pixie is over twenty we havenot been treating her fairly. We have treated her too much as a child. We ought to have entertained for her, taken her about. "

Bridgie sighed, and dropped her eyelids to hide the twinkle in her eyes. Like most husbands Dick preferred a quiet domestic evening at the endof a day abroad: like most wives Bridgie would have enjoyed a littlediversion at the end of a day at home. Sweetly and silently for nearlyhalf a dozen years she had subdued her preferences to his, feeling it atonce her pleasure and her duty to do so, but now, if duty suddenlyassumed the guise of a gayer, more sociable life, then most cheerfullywould Irish Bridgie accept the change. 

"I think, dear, " she said primly, "it _would_ be wise. Esmeralda hassaid so many a time, but I took no notice. I never did take any noticeof Esmeralda, but she was right this time, it appears, and I was wrong. Imagine it! Pixie began bemoaning that she was not pretty, and it wasnot herself she was grieving for, or you, or _Me_!"--Bridgie's voicesounded a crescendo of amazement over that last pronoun--"but whom doyou suppose? You'll never guess! Her future _lovers_!"

It was just another instance of the provokingness of man that at thishorrible disclosure Dick threw himself back in his chair in a peal oflaughter; he laughed and laughed till the tears stood in his eyes, andBridgie, despite herself, joined in the chorus. The juxtaposition ofPixie and lovers had proved just as startling to him as to his wife, butwhile she had been scandalised, he was frankly, whole-heartedly amused. 

"Pixie!" he cried. "Pixie with a lover! It would be about as easy tothink of Patsie. Dear, quaint little Pixie! Who dares to say she isn'tpretty? Her funny little nose, her big, generous mouth are a hundredtimes more charming than the ordinary pretty face. I'll tell you whatit is, darling, "--he sobered suddenly;--"Pixie's lover, whoever he maybe, will be an uncommonly lucky fellow!"

Husband and wife sat in silence for some moments after this, hand inhand, as their custom was in hours of privacy, while the thoughts ofeach pursued the same subject--Pixie's opening life and their own dutytowards it. 

On both minds was borne the unwilling realisation that their own homewas not the ideal abode to afford the experience of life, the openintercourse with young people of her own age which it was desirable thatthe girl should now enjoy. As a means of adding to his income CaptainVictor had accepted the position of adjutant to a volunteer corps in anorthern city, and, as comparatively new residents, his list ofacquaintances was but small. 

Esmeralda, or to speak more correctly, Joan, the second daughter of theO'Shaughnessy family, as the wife of the millionaire, Geoffrey Hilliard, possessed a beautiful country seat not sixty miles from town, whileJack, the eldest brother, had returned to the home of his fathers, KnockCastle, in Ireland, on the money which his wife had inherited from herfather, after he had become engaged to her in her character of apenniless damsel. Jack was thankful all his life to remember that fact, though his easy-going Irish nature found nothing to worry about in thefact that the money was legally his wife's, and not his own. 

Both Esmeralda as a society queen, and Sylvia as chatelaine of Knock, had opportunities of showing life to a young girl, with which Bridgie inher modest little home in a provincial town could not compete. Nevertheless, the heart of the tender elder sister was loath to partfrom her charge at the very moment when watchfulness and guidance weremost important. She fought against the idea; assured herself that therewas time, plenty of time. What, after all, was twenty-one? In two, three years one might talk about society; in the meantime let the childbe! And Captain Victor, in his turn, looked into the future, and sawhis Bridgie left sisterless in this strange town, bereft all day long ofthe society of the sweetest and most understanding of companions, andhe, too, sighed, and asked himself what was the hurry. Surely anotheryear, a couple of years! And then, being _one_ in reality as well as inname, the eyes of husband and wife met and lingered, and, as if at thesweep of an angel's wing, the selfish thoughts fell away, and they facedtheir duty and accepted it once for all. 

Bridgie leaned her head on her husband's shoulder and sighed thankfully. 

"I have you, Dick, and the children! 'Twould be wicked to complain. "

And Dick murmured gruffly--

"I want no one but you, " and held her tightly in his arms, while Bridgiesniffed, and whimpered, like one of her own small children. 

"But if P-ixie--_if_ Pixie is unhappy--if any wretched man breaksPixie's heart--"

"He couldn't!" Dick Victor said firmly. "No man could. That's beyondthem. Heart's like Pixie's don't break, Honey! I don't say they, maynot ache at times, but breaking is a different matter. Your bantling isgrown-up: you can keep her no longer beneath your wing. She must go outinto the world, and work and suffer like the rest, but she'll winthrough. Pixie the woman will be a finer creature than Pixie thechild!"

But Bridgie hid her face, and the tears rushed into her eyes, for herswas the mother's heart which longed ever to succour and protect, andPixie was the child whom a dying father had committed to her care. Itwas hard to let Pixie go. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE INVITATION. 

The immediate consequence of the Pixie pronouncement was acorrespondence between her two elder sisters, wherein Bridgie atehumble-pie, and Esmeralda rode the high horse after the manner born. 

"You were right about Pixie, darling. It _is_ dull for her here in thisstrange town, where we have _so_ few friends; and now that she is nearlytwenty-one it does not seem right to shut her up. She ought to go aboutand see the world, and meet boys and girls of her own age. And so, dear, would it be convenient to you to have her for a few months untilyou go up to town? Your life in the country will seem a whirl of gaietyafter our monotonous jog-trot, and she has been so useful and diligent, helping me these last years with never a thought for her own enjoyment, that she deserves all the fun she can get. I am sad at parting fromher, but if it's for her good I'll make the effort. She has two nicenew frocks, and I could get her another for parties. " Thus Bridgie. Esmeralda's reply came by return--the big, slanting writing, plentifullyunderlined--

"_At last_, my dear, you have come to your senses. For a sweet-temperedperson, you certainly have, as I've told you before, a surprising amountof obstinacy. In future do try to believe that in matters of worldlywisdom I know best, and be ruled by me!

"Pixie can come at once--the sooner the better, but for pity's sake, mydear, spare me the frocks. Felice can run her up a few things to lastuntil I have time to take her to town. If I am to take her about, shemust be dressed to please _me_, and do _me_ credit. 

"We have people coming and going all the time, and I'll be thankful tohave her. I wouldn't say so for the world, Bridgie, but you _have_ beenselfish about Pixie! Never a bit of her have I had to myself; she hascome for the regular Christmas visits, of course, and sometimes insummer, but it's always been with you and Dick and the children; it'sonly the leavings of attention she's had to spare for any one else. Nowmy boys will have a chance! Perhaps she can keep them in order--_I_can't! They are the pride and the shame, and the joy and the grief, andthe sunshine and the--thunder and lightning and earthquake of my life. Bridgie, did you ever think it would feel like that to be a mother? Ithought it would be all pure joy, but there's a big ache mixed in--

"Geoff was so naughty this morning, so disobedient and rude, and Iprayed, Bridgie--I shut myself in my room and prayed for patience, andthen went down and spoke to him so sweetly. You'd have loved to hearme. I said: `If you want to grow up a good, wise man like father, youmust learn to be gentle and polite. Did you ever hear father speakrudely to me?'--`Oh, no, ' says he, quite simply, `_but I've often heardyou speak rudely to him_!' Now, what was a poor misguided mother to sayto that? Especially when it was True! You are never cross, so youryoungsters can never corner you like that; but I am--often! Whichproves that I need Pixie more than you do, and she'd better hurryalong. "

Pixie came lightly into the dining-room, just as Bridgie was reading thelast words of the letter. She was almost invariably late for breakfast, a fact which was annoying to Captain Victor's soldierly sense ofpunctuality. He looked markedly at the clock, and Pixie said genially, "I apologise, me dear. The young need sleep!" Then she fell to work ather porridge with healthy enjoyment. She wore a blue serge skirt and abright, red silk shirt, neatly belted by a strip of patent-leather. Theonce straggly locks were parted in the middle, and swathed round alittle head which held itself jauntily aloft; her eyes danced, her lipscurved. It was a bare eight o'clock in the morning, a period when mostpeople are languid and half-awake. But there was no languor aboutPixie; she looked intensely, brilliantly alive. A stream of vitalityseemed to emanate from her little form and fill the whole room. The dogstirred on the rug and rose to his feet; the canary hopped to a higherperch and began to sing; Dick Victor felt an access of appetite, andhelped himself to a second egg and more bacon. 

"This is Wednesday, " announced Pixie genially, "and it's fine. I lovefine Wednesdays! It's a habit from the old school-time, when they werehalf-holidays, and meant so, much. ... I wonder what nice thing willhappen to-day. "

Husband and wife exchanged a glance. They knew and loved this habit ofexpecting happiness, and looking forward to the joys rather than thesorrows of the future, which had all her life, been characteristic ofPixie O'Shaughnessy. They realised that it was to this quality of mind, rather than to external happenings, that she owed her cheerful serenity, but this morning it was impossible not to wonder how she would view theproposed change of abode. 

"I've had a letter from Esmeralda, " announced Bridgie baldly from behindthe urn, and, quick as thought, Pixie's sharp eyes searched her face. 

"But that's not nice. It's given you a wrinkle. Take no notice, andshe'll write to-morrow to say she's sorry. She's got to worry or die, but there's no reason why you should die too. Roll it up into spills, and forget all about it. "

"I can't--it's important. And she's not worrying. It's very--" Bridgiepaused for a moment, just one moment, to swallow that accusation ofselfishness--"_kind_! Pixie darling, it's about _You_. "

"Me!" cried Pixie, and dropped her spoon with a clang. Bridgie hadalready pushed back her chair from the table; Pixie pushed hers tofollow suit. Such a prosaic affair as breakfast had plainly vanishedfrom their thoughts, but Captain Victor had by no means forgotten, nordid it suit him to face emotional scenes to an accompaniment of baconand eggs. 

"_After_ breakfast, please!" he cried, in what his wife described as his"barracks" voice, and which had the effect in this instance of makingher turn on the tap of the urn so hurriedly that she had not had time toplace her cup underneath. She blushed and frowned. Pixie deftly movedthe toast-rack so as to conceal the damage, and proceeded to eat ahearty breakfast with undiminished appetite. 

It was not until Captain Victor had left the room to pay his morningvisit to the nursery, that Bridgie again referred to her sister'sletter, and then her first words were of reproach. 

"How you could sit there, Pixie, eating your breakfast, as calm as youplease, when you knew there was news--news that concerned yourself!"

"I was hungry, " said Pixie calmly. "And I love excitement; it's thebreath of my nostrils. All the while I was making up stories, withmyself as heroine. I'm afraid it will be only disappointment I'll feelwhen you tell me. Truth is so tame, compared to imagination. Besides, there was Dick!" She smiled a forbearing, elderly smile. "You can'tlive in the house with Dick without learning self-control. He's so--"

"He's not!" contradicted Dick's wife, with loyal fervour. "Dick wasquite right; he always is. It was his parents who were to blame formaking him English. " She sighed, and stared reflectively out of thewindow. "We ought to be thankful, Pixie, that we are Irish through andthrough. It means so much that English people can't even understand--seeing jokes when they are sad, and happiness when they are bored andbeing poor and not caring, and miserable and forgetting, and interested, and excited--"

"Every single hour!" concluded Pixie deeply, and they laughed inconcert. In the contemplation of the advantages of an Irish temperamentthey had come near forgetting the real subject of discussion, but thesight of the letter on the table before her recalled it to Bridgie'sremembrance. She straightened her back and assumed an air ofresponsibility, a natural dramatic instinct prompting her to play herpart in appropriate fashion. 

"Dick and I have been feeling, my dear, that as you are now reallygrown-up, you ought to be having a livelier time than we can give you inthis strange town, and Esmeralda has been saying the same thing foryears past. She feels we have been rather selfish in keeping you somuch to ourselves, and thinks that it is her turn to have you to livewith her for a time. We think so too, Pixie. Not for altogether, ofcourse. For three or four months, say; and then you might go over toKnock, and come back to us again for Christmas. Of course, darling, youunderstand that we don't _want_ you to go!"

Pixie stared silently across the table. She had grown rather white, andher brows were knitted in anxious consideration. 

"Bridget Victor, " she said solemnly, "is it the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth you are telling me, or is it just an excuse toget me out of the way? If there's any trouble, or worry, or illness, orupset coming on, that you want to spare me because I'm young, you'dbetter know at once that it will only be the expense of the journeywasted, for on the very first breath of it I'd fly back to you if it wasacross the world!"

"I know it, " said Bridgie, and blinked back a tear. "But it's the wholetruth, and nothing but the truth, Pixie, that we are the happiest, andthe healthiest, and the contentedest little family in the country, andthere's no need to worry about us. We were thinking only of you, andyou are free in this instance to think only of yourself. "

"That's agreeable!" was Pixie's comment. The frown left her brow andshe smiled, the wide lips parting to show brilliantly white littleteeth, teeth very nearly as pretty and infantile as those belonging tothe small Patsie upstairs. Beholding that smile, Bridgie had no doubtas to the verdict which she was about to hear, and suffered anunreasoning pang of disappointment. 

"Then I'll confess to you, my dear, " continued Pixie affably, "that Ifind myself just in the mood for excitement. So long as you are wellthere's nothing on earth I'd love so much at this moment as to go off ona junket. If Esmeralda wants to give me a good time, let the poor thinghave her way--_I'll_ not hinder her! I'll go, and I'll love it; butI'll not promise how long I shall stay--all sorts of things may happen. "

"Yes, " said Bridgie dreamily, "all sorts of things!"

And so Pixie O'Shaughnessy went forth to meet her fate. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

IN MARBLE HALLS. 

Mrs Geoffrey Hilliard, _nee_ Joan O'Shaughnessy, was the seconddaughter of the family, and had been christened Esmeralda "for short" bythe brothers and sisters of whom she had been alternately the pride andthe trial. The fantastic name had an appropriateness so undeniable thateven Joan's husband had adopted it in his turn for use in the familycircle, reserving the more dignified "Joan" for more ceremoniousoccasions. 

"Esmeralda" had been a beauty from her cradle, and would be a beauty ifshe lived to be a hundred, for her proud, restless features wereperfectly chiselled, and her great grey eyes, with the long black lasheson the upper and lower lid, were as eloquent as they were lovely. Whenshe was angry, they seemed to send out veritable flashes of fire; whenshe was languid, the white lids drooped and the fringed eyelashes veiledthem in a misty calm; when she was loving, when she held her boys in herarms, or spoke a love word in her husband's ear, ah! Then it was a joyindeed to behold the beauty of those limpid eyes! They "melted" indeed, not with tears, but with the very essence of tenderness and love. 

"Esmeralda's so nice that you couldn't believe she was so horrid!"Pixie had declared once in her earlier years, and unfortunately therewas still too much truth in the pronouncement. 

Seven years of matrimony, and the responsibility of two young sons, hadfailed to discipline the hasty, intolerant nature, although they hadcertainly deepened the inner longing for improvement. Joan devotedlyloved her husband, but accepted as her right his loyal devotion, andfelt bitterly aggrieved when his forbearance occasionally gave way. 

She adored her two small sons, and her theories on motherhood were sosweet and lofty that Bridgie, listening thereto, had been moved totears. But in practice the theories were apt to go to the wall. To doJoan justice she would at any time have marched cheerfully to the stakeif by so doing she could have saved her children from peril, but she wasincapable of being patient during one long rainy afternoon, whenconfinement in the house had aroused into full play those mischievousinstincts characteristic of healthy and spirited youngsters; and if anyone imagines that the two statements contradict each other, he has yetto learn that heroic heights of effort are easier of accomplishment thana steady jog-trot along a dull high-road. 

Joan Hilliard's reflections on the coming of her younger sister weresignificant of her mental attitude. "Pixie's no trouble. She's such aneasy soul. She fits into corners and fills in the gaps. She'll amusethe boys. It will keep them in good humour to have her to invent newgames. She'll keep Geoff company at breakfast when I'm tired. I'll getsome of the duty visits over while she's here. She'll talk to thebores, and be so pleased at the sound of her own voice that she'll nevernotice they don't answer. And she'll cheer me up when _I'm_ bored. And, of course, I'll take her about--"

Pixie's amusement, it will be noticed, was but a secondary considerationto Joan's own ease and comfort; for though it may be a very enjoyableexperience to be a society beauty and exchange poverty for riches, noone will be brave enough to maintain that such an experience isconducive to the growth of spiritual qualities. Sweet-hearted Bridgiemight possibly have come unscathed through the ordeal, but Esmeralda wasmade of a different clay. 

Pixie started alone on the three hours' journey, for the Victorhousehold possessed no maid who could be spared, and husband and wifewere both tied by home duties; moreover, being a modern young woman, shefelt perfectly competent to look after herself, and looked forward tothe experience with pleasure rather than dread. Bridgie was inclined tobe tearful at parting, and Pixie's artistic sense prompted a similardisplay, but she found herself simply incapable of forcing a tear. 

"It's worse for you than for me, " she confessed candidly, "for you'venothing to do, poor creature! But go home to cold mutton and darning, while I'm off to novelty and adventure. That's why the guests sometimescry at a wedding, out of pity for themselves, because they can't go offon a honeymoon with a trousseau and an adoring groom. They pretend it'ssympathetic emotion, but it isn't; it's nothing in the world but selfishregret. ... Don't cry, darling; it makes me feel so mean. Think of thelovely _tete-a-tete_ this will mean for Dick and you!"

"Yes--in the evenings. I'll love that!" confessed Bridgie, with thecandour of her race. "But oh, Pixie, the long, dull days, and no one tolaugh with me at the jokes the English can't see, or to make pretend!--"

"Ah!" mourned Pixie deeply, "I'll miss that, too! The times we've had, imagining a fortune arriving by the afternoon post, and spending it allbefore dinner! All the fun, and none of the trouble. But it's dull, imagining all by oneself! And Dick's no good. He calls it waste oftime! I shall marry an Irishman, Bridgie, when my time comes!"

"Get into the train and don't talk nonsense!" said Bridgie firmly. Shefelt it prophetic that on this eve of departure Pixie's remarks shouldagain touch on husbands and weddings, but not for the world would shehave hinted as much. She glanced at the other occupant of thecarriage--a stout, middle-aged woman, and was on the point of invitingher chaperonage when a warning gleam in Pixie's eyes silenced the wordson her lips. So presently the train puffed out of the station, andBridgie Victor turned sadly homewards even as Pixie seated herself witha bounce, and smiled complacently into space. 

"That's over!" she said to herself with a sigh of relief, glad as ever, to be done with painful things and able to look forward to the good tocome. "She thinks she's miserable, the darling, but she'll be as happyas a grig the moment she gets back to Dick and the children. That's theworst of living with married sisters! They can manage so well withoutyou. I'd prefer some one who was frantic if I turned my back--"

She smiled at the thought, and met an ingratiating smile upon the faceof her travelling companion. The companion was stout and elderly, handsomely dressed, and evidently of a sociable disposition. It was theheight of her ambition on a railway journey to meet another woman towhom she could shout confidences for hours upon end, but it was rarelythat her sentiments were returned. Fate had been kind to her to-day inplacing Pixie O'Shaughnessy in the same carriage. 

"The young lady seemed quite distressed to leave you. Is she yoursister?"

"She is. Do you think we are alike?"

"I--I wouldn't go so far as to say _alike_!" the large lady saidblandly; "but there's a _look_! As I always say, there's no knowingwhere you are with a family likeness. My eldest girl--May--takes afterher father; Felicia, the youngest, is the image of myself; yet they'vebeen mistaken for each other times and again. It's a turn of thechin. --Is she married?"

"Who? Bridgie--my sister? Oh yes--very much. Six years. "

"Dear me! She looks so young! My May is twenty-seven. She has had herchances, of course. Any children?"

"Wh--" Pixie's mind again struggled after the connection. "Oh, two--aboy and a girl. They are called, " she added, with a benevolentconsciousness of sparing further effort, "Patrick and Patricia. "

"Irish, evidently, " the large lady decided shrewdly. "Rather awkward, isn't it, about pet names, and laundry marks, and so forth? However.... And so you've been paying her a visit, I suppose, and are returningto your home?"

"One of my homes, " corrected Pixie happily. "I have three. Two sistersand one brother. And they all like to have me. My parents are dead. "Her tone showed that the loss referred to was of many years' standing;nevertheless, the stout lady hurriedly changed the conversation, asthough fearful of painful reminiscences. 

"I have been having a morning's shopping. We live _quite_ in thecountry, and I come to town every time I need a new gown. I have beenarranging for one this morning, for a wedding. So difficult, when onehas no ideas! I chose purple. "

Pixie cocked her head on one side and thoughtfully pursed her lips. 

"Very nice! Yes, purple's so--_portly_!" She surprised a puckering ofthe large lady's face, and hastened to supplement the description. "Portly, and--er--regal, and _duchessy_, don't you think? I met aduchess once--she was rather like you--and _she_ wore purple!"

The large lady expanded in a genial warmth. Her lips opened in abreathless question--

"How was the bodice made?"

Pixie reflected deeply. 

"I can't exactly _say_! But it was years ago. It would be quite_demode_. For a wedding, of course, you must be up to date. Weddingsmake a fuss for months, and are so _soon_ over--I mean for the guests. They are not _much_ fun. "

"Where did you meet the Duchess?"

"Oh, at my sister's--the one I am going to now. In her town house, at areception one afternoon. She had a purple dress with lace, and a QueenVictoria sort of bonnet with strings, and little white feathers stickingup in the front; and she had a--" Pixie smiled into space withreminiscent enjoyment--"_beautiful_ sense of humour!"

The large lady looked deeply impressed, and, beginning at the topmostribbon on Pixie's hat, stared steadily downward to the tip of the littlepatent-leather shoe, evidently expecting to find points of unusualinterest in the costume of a girl whose sister entertained a duchess inher town house. The train had rattled through a small hamlet and comeout again into the open before she spoke again. 

"Do you see many of them?"

"Which? What? Bonnets? Feathers? I don't think I quite--"

"Duchesses!" said the large lady deeply. And Pixie, who still preservedher childish love of cutting a dash, fought with, and overcame anunworthy temptation to invent several such titles on the spot. 

"Not--many, " she confessed humbly, "But, you see, I'm so young--I'mhardly `out. ' The sister with whom I've been living has not been ableto entertain. Where I'm going it is different. I expect to be verygay. "

The large lady nodded brightly. 

"Quite right! Quite right! Only young once. Laugh while you may. Ilike to see young things enjoying themselves. ... And then you'll begetting engaged, and marrying. "

"Oh, of course, " assented Pixie, with an alacrity in such sharp contrastwith the protests with which the modern girl sees fit to meet suchprophecies, that the hearer was smitten not only with surprise butanxiety. An expression of real motherly kindliness shone in her eyes asshe fixed them upon the girl's small, radiant face. 

"I hope it will be `of course, ' dear, and that you may be very, veryhappy; but it's a serious question. I'm an old-fashioned body, whobelieves in love. If it's the real thing it _lasts_, and it's about theonly thing upon which you can count. Health comes and goes, and richestake wing. When I married Papa he was in tin-plates, and doing well, but owing to American treaties (you wouldn't understand!) we had to putdown servants and move into a smaller house. Now, if I'd married himfor money, how should I have felt _then_?"

Pixie wagged her head with an air of the deepest dejection. She wasspeculating as to the significance of tin-plates, but thought it tactfulnot to inquire. 

"I hope--" she breathed deeply--"I hope the tin-plates--" and hercompanion gathered together her satchel and cloak in readiness fordeparture at the next station, nodding a cheerful reassurance. 

"Oh, yes; _quite_ prosperous again! Have been for years. But it onlyshows. ... And Papa has attacks of gout. They are trying, my dear, to_me_, as well as to himself; but if you love a man--well, it comeseasier. ... Here's my station. So glad to have met you! I'll rememberabout the purple. "

The train stopped, and the good lady alighted and passed through thewicket-gate, and her late companion watched her pass with a sentimentalsigh. 

"`Ships that pass in the night, and signal each other in passing. ' Shetook to me, and I took to her. She'll talk about me all evening to Mayand Felicia, and the tin-plate Papa, and ten chances to one we'll nevermeet again. `It's a sad world, my masters!'" sighed Pixie, and dived inher bag for a chocolate support. 

The rest of the journey brought no companion so confidential, and Pixiewas heartily glad to arrive at her destination, and as the trainslackened speed to run into the station, to catch a glimpse of Esmeraldasitting straight and stately in a high cart ready to drive her visitorback to the Hall. Motors were very well in their way--useful trainletsready to call at one's own door and whirl one direct to the place whereone would be, but the girl who had hunted with her father since she wasa baby of four years old was never _so_ happy as when she was in commandof a horse. As the new-comer climbed up into the high seat thebeautiful face was turned towards her with a smile as sweet and lovingas Bridgie's own. 

"Well, Pixie! Ah, dearie, this is good. I've got you at last. "

"Esmeralda, _darling_! What an angel you look!"

"Don't kiss me in public, _please_, " snapped Esmeralda, becoming prosaicwith startling rapidity at the first hint of visible demonstration. Shesignalled to the groom, and off they went, trotting down the countrylane in great contentment of spirits. 

"How's everybody?" asked Esmeralda. "Well? That's right. You can tellme the details later on. Now, you have just to forget Bridgie for abit, and think of _Me_. I've wanted you for years, and I told Bridgieto her face she was selfish to keep you away. If I'm not a goodexample, you can take example by my faults, and isn't that just as good?And there's so much that I want you to do. You always loved to help, didn't you, Pixie?"

"I did, " assented Pixie, but the quick ears of the listener detected ahint of hesitation in the sound. The dark eyebrows arched in haughtyquestioning, and Pixie, no whit abashed, shrugged her shoulders andconfessed with a laugh: "But to tell you the truth, my dear, it was notso much for helping, as for having a good time for myself, that Istarted on this trip. Bridgie said I'd been domestic long enough, andneeded to play for a change, and there's a well of something bubbling upinside me that longs, simply _longs_, for a vent. Of course, if onecould combine the two... "

Joan Hilliard looked silently into the girl's bright face and made amental comparison. She thought of the round of change and amusementwhich constituted her own life, and then of the little house in thenorthern city in which Pixie's last years had been spent; of themonotonous, if happy, round of duties, every day the same, from year'send to year's end, of the shortage of means, of friends, ofopportunities, and a wave of compunction overwhelmed her. Esmeraldanever did things by halves; neither had she any false shame aboutconfessing her faults. 

"I'm a selfish brute, " she announced bluntly. "I deserve to bepunished. If I go on like this I _shall_ be some day! I'm alwaysthinking of myself, when I'm not in a temper with some one else. It'san awful thing, Pixie, to be born into the world with a temper. Andnow, Geoff has inherited it from me. " She sighed, shook the reins, andbrightened resolutely. "Never mind, you _shall_ have a good time, darling! There's a girl staying in the house now--you'll like her--andtwo young men, and lots of people coming in and out. "

Pixie heaved a sigh of beatific content. 

"To-night? At once? That's what I love--to tumble pell-mell into awhirl of dissipation. I never could bear to wait. I'm pining to seeGeoffrey and the boys, and all your wonderful new possessions. You mustbe happy, Esmeralda, to have so much, and be so well, and pretty, andrich. Aren't you just burstingly happy?"

Joan did not answer. She stared ahead over the horse's head with astrange, rapt look in the wonderful eyes. An artist would have loved topaint her at that moment, but it would not have been as a type ofhappiness. The expression spoke rather of struggle, of restlessness, and want--a spiritual want which lay ever at the back of the excitementand glamour, clamouring to be filled. 

Pixie looked at her sister, just once, and then averted her eyes. Herswas the understanding which springs from love, and she realised that hersimple question had struck a tender spot. Instead of waiting for ananswer she switched the conversation to ordinary, impersonal topics, andkept it there until the house was reached. 

Tea was waiting in the large inner hall, and the girl visitor cameforward to be introduced and shake hands. She was a slim, fair creaturewith masses of hair of a pale flaxen hue, swathed round her head, andheld in place by large amber pins. Not a hair was out of place--theeffect was more like a bandage of pale brown silk than ordinary humanlocks. Her dress was made in the extreme of the skimpy fashion, and herlittle feet were encased in the most immaculate of silk shoes andstockings. She looked Pixie over in one quick, appraising glance, andPixie stared back with widened eyes. 

"My sister, Patricia O'Shaughnessy, " declaimed Esmeralda. Whereupon thestrange girl bowed and repeated, "Miss Pat-ricia O'Shaughnessy. Pleasedto meet you, " in a manner which proclaimed her American birth asunmistakably as a flourish of the Stars and Stripes. 

Then tea was brought in, and two young men joined the party, followed bythe host, Geoffrey Hilliard, who gave the warmest of welcomes to hislittle sister-in-law. His kiss, the grasp of his hand, spoke of adeeper feeling than one of mere welcome, and Pixie had an instantperception that Geoffrey, like his wife, felt in need of help. Thefirst glance had shown him more worn and tired than a man should be whohas youth, health, a beautiful wife, charming children, and more moneythan he knows how to spend; but whatever hidden troubles might exist, they were not allowed to shadow this hour of meeting. 

"Sure, and this is a sight for sore eyes!" he cried, with a would-beadaptation of an Irish accent. "You're welcome, Pixie--a hundred timeswelcome. We're overjoyed to see you, dear. "

Pixie beamed at him, with an attention somewhat diverted by the twoyoung men who stared at her from a few yards' distance. One was talland fair, the other dark and thick set, and when Esmeralda swept forwardto make the formal introductions it appeared that the first rejoiced inthe name of Stanor Vaughan, and the second in the much more ordinary oneof Robert Carr. 

"My sister Patricia, " once more announced Mrs Hilliard, and though theyoung men ascribed Pixie's blush to a becoming modesty, it arose inreality from annoyance at the sound of the high-sounding title which hadbeen so persistently dropped all her life. Surely Esmeralda was notgoing to insist upon "Patricia!"

For a few moments everybody remained standing, the men relating theirexperiences of the afternoon, while Esmeralda waited for some furtheradditions to the tea-table, and Pixie's quick-seeing eyes roamed hereand there gathering impressions to be stored away for later use. Shewas too excited, too interested, to talk herself, but her ears were asquick as her eyes, and so it happened that she caught a fragment ofconversation between Miss Ward and the tall Mr Vaughan, which wascertainly not intended for her ears. 

"... A _sister_!" he was repeating in tones of incredulous astonishment. "A sister! But how extraordinarily unlike! She must have thrown in herown beauty to add to Mrs Hilliard's share!"

"Oh, hush!" breathed the girl urgently. "_She heard_!"

Stanor Vaughan lifted his head sharply and met Pixie's watching eyesfixed upon him. His own glance was tense and shamed, but to hisamazement hers was friendly, humorous, undismayed. There was nodispleasure in her face, no hint of humiliation nor discomfiture--nothing, it would appear, but serene, unruffled agreement. 

Stanor Vaughan had not a good memory: few events of his youth remainedwith him after middle life, but when he was an old, old man that momentstill remained vivid, when, in the place of rebuke, he first met theradiance of Pixie. O'Shaughnessy's broad, sweet smile. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

A TALK ABOUT MEN--AND PICKLES. 

Stanor Vaughan was deputed to take Pixie in to dinner that evening, anarrangement which at the beginning of the meal appeared less agreeableto him than to his partner. He cast furtive glances at the small, plain, yet mysteriously attractive little girl, who was the sister ofthe beautiful Mrs Hilliard, the while she ate her soup, and foundhimself attacked by an unusual nervousness. He didn't know what to say:he didn't know how to say it. He had made a bad start, and he wishedwith all his heart that he could change places with Carr and "rot" withthat jolly Miss Ward. All the same, he found himself curiouslyattracted by this small Miss O'Shaughnessy, and he puzzled his handsomehead to discover why. 

There was no beauty in the little face, and, as a rule, Stanor, as hehimself would have expressed it, had "no use" for a girl who was plain. What really attracted him was the happiness and serenity which shone inPixie's face, as light shines through the encircling glass, for to humancreatures as to plants the great necessity of life is sun, and itsattraction is supreme. Walk along a crowded street and watch thedifferent faces of the men and women as they pass by--grey faces, drabfaces, white faces, yellow faces, faces sad and cross, and lined anddull, faces by the thousand blank of any expression at all, and thenhere and there, at rare, rare intervals, a _live_ face that speaks. Youspy it afar off--a face with shining eyes, with lips curled ready forlaughter, with arching brows, and tilted chin, and every little line andwrinkle speaking of _life_. 

That face is as a magnet to attract not only eyes, but hearts into thebargain; the passers-by, rouse themselves from their lethargy to smileback in sympathy, and pass on their way wafting mental messages ofaffection. --"What a _dear_ girl!" they cry, or "woman, " or "man, " as thecase may be. "What a charming face! I should like to know that girl. "And the girl with the happy face goes on _her_ way, all the happier forthe kindly, thoughts by which she is pursued. 

When strangers were first introduced to Pixie O'Shaughnessy theyinvariably catalogued her as a plain-looking girl; when they had knownher for an hour they began to feel that they had been mistaken, and atthe end of a week they would have been prepared to quarrel with theirbest friend if he had echoed their own first judgment. The charm of herpersonality soon overpowered the physical deficiency. 

Stanor Vaughan was as yet too young and prosperous to realise the realreason of Pixie's attraction. He decided that it was attributable toher trim, jaunty little figure and the unusual fashion in which shedressed her hair. Also she wore a shade of bright flame-coloured silkwhich made a special appeal to his artistic eye, and he approved of thesimple, graceful fashion of its cut. 

"Looks as if she'd had enough stuff!" he said to himself, with all aman's dislike of the prevailing hobble. He pondered how to open theconversation, asking himself uneasily what punishment the girl wouldaward him for his _faux pas_ of the afternoon. Would she be haughty?She didn't look the kind of little thing to be haughty! Would she becold and aloof? Somehow, glancing at the irregular, piquant littleprofile, he could not imagine her aloof. Would she snap? Ah! Now hewas not so certain. He saw distinct possibilities of snap, and then, just as he determined that he really must make the plunge and get itover, Pixie leaned confidentially toward him and said below her breath--

"_Please_ talk! Make a start--any start--and I'll go on. ... It's yourplace to begin. "

"Er--er--" stammered Stanor, and promptly forgot every subject ofconversation under the sun. He stared back into the girl's face, mether honest eyes, and was seized with an impulse of confession. "BeforeI say anything else, I--I ought to apologise, Miss O'Shaughnessy. I'mmost abominably ashamed. I'm afraid you overheard my--er--er--w-what Isaid to Miss Ward at tea--"

"Of course I heard, " said Pixie, staring. "What could you expect? Notfour yards away, and a great bass voice! I'm not _deaf_. But there'sno need to feel sorry. I thought you put it very nicely, myself!"

"Nicely!" He stared in amaze. "_Nicely_! How could you possibly--"

"You said I had given Esmeralda my share. I'd never once looked at itin that way; neither had any one else. And it's _so soothing_. Itgives me a sort of credit, don't you see, as well as a pride. "

She was speaking honestly, transparently honestly; it was impossible todoubt that, with her clear eyes beaming upon him, her lips curling backin laughter from her small white teeth. There was not one sign ofrancour, of offence, of natural girlish vanity suffering beneath a blow. 

"Good sport!" cried Stanor, in a voice, however, which could be heard byno one but himself. His embarrassment fell from him, but not hisamazement; _that_ seemed to increase with each moment that passed. Hisglance lingered on Pixie's face, the while he said incredulously--

"It's--it's wonderful of you. I've known heaps of girls, but never onewho would have taken it like that. You don't seem to have a scrap ofconceit--"

"Ex-cuse me, " corrected Miss O'Shaughnessy. For the first time sheseemed to be slightly ruffled, as though the supposition that she couldbe bereft of any quality, or experience common to her kind wasdistinctly hurtful to her pride. "I _have_! Heaps! But it's for theright things. I've too much conceit to be conceited about things aboutwhich I've no _right_ to be conceited. I'm only conceited about thingsabout which I'm--"

"Conceited enough to know are worth being jolly well conceited about, "concluded Stanor, and they laughed together in merry understanding. 

"That's it, " agreed Pixie, nodding. "I used to be conceited about beingplain, because it was so unusual in our family that it was consideredquite distinguished, and my father used to boast at the hunt that he hadthe ugliest child in the county, though it was himself that said it. But, " she gave the slightest, most ephemeral of sighs, "I've livedthrough that. I'm conceited now about--other things. "

"Lots of them, I'm sure. There must be lots, " agreed Stanor, with asincerity which condoned the banality of the speech. "About your goodnature for one thing, I should say, and your generosity in forgiving ablundering man, and your jolly disposition which makes you smile whenanother girl would have been wild. I can understand all those and a lotmore, but, just as a matter of curiosity, I should like to know what areyou conceited about _most_?"

Pixie O'Shaughnessy smiled. There was evidently no doubt in her ownmind as to her reply. The slim figure straightened, the little headtilted in air. Quick and crisp came the reply--

"I can make people do what I like!"

"Can you, though!" exclaimed Stanor blankly. The statement seemed tothreaten a mysteriously personal application, and he relapsed into aruminating silence, the while his companion employed herself cheerfullywith her dinner and the looks and conversation of her companions. 

It was one of Pixie's special gifts to be able to do at least threethings at the same time with quite a fair amount of success. She could, for instance, write a business-like letter while carrying on an animatedconversation with a friend, and keeping an eye on a small childtottering around the room. Brain, eyes, and limb were alike so alertthat what to slower natures would have been impossible, to her involvedno effort at all. 

Therefore, when about two minutes later Stanor opened his lips again toutter a short, urgent "_How_?" she had not the slightest difficulty inswitching back to the subject, though she had been at the moment in themidst of an absorbing calculation as to the number of yards of lace on adress of a lady farther down the table, and in drawing mental designs ofthe way it was put on, to enclose to Bridgie in her next letter home. 

"How?"

"I _understand_ them, " said Pixie deeply. "You can open any door if youhave the key, but most people go on banging when it's shut. I wait tillI find my key, and then I keep it ready until the moment arrives when Iwish to get in. "

Stanor's broad shoulders gave an involuntary movement which might almosthave been taken for a shiver. Once again he felt a mysteriousconviction of a personal application. All his life long the phrase hadrung in his ears, "I don't understand you!" "If I could once understandyou!" and for lack of that understanding there had been trouble andcoldness between himself and his nearest relative. Proverbially he wasdifficult to understand; and he had prided himself on the reputation. Who wanted to be a simple, transparent fellow, whom any one could lead?This was the first time in his life that he had come into contact with agirl who announced herself an expert understander of human nature. Hewondered vaguely what, given the initial success, Pixie would wish himto do, hesitated on the point of inquiry, thought better of it andturned the conversation to impersonal topics. 

After dinner Pixie sat on a sofa in the drawing-room enjoying atemporary _tete-a-tete_ with the other girl visitor. Miss Ward's hairwas, if possible, smoother than ever, and she wore a velvet dress almostexactly matching it in shade, which seemed to Pixie's unsophisticatedeyes an extraordinarily sumptuous garment for a young girl to wear. Hereyes were brown, too--bright, quick-glancing eyes full of interest andcuriosity. When she spoke her nationality became once more conspicuous. 

"Miss Pat-ricia O'Shaughnessy, I guess you and I have got to be realgood friends! I've been spoiling for another girl to enjoy this tripwith me. If you're having a good time, it makes it twice as good tohave a girl to go shares, and compare notes, and share the jokes. Youlook to me as if you could enjoy a joke. "

"I was brought up to them, " Pixie affirmed. "I couldn't live without. There's nothing to eat, nor to drink, nor to do, nor to have that Icouldn't give up at a pinch, but a sense of humour I--must have! If youfeel the same, we're friends from this minute. ... Would you mindtelling me as a start just exactly who you are?"

Miss Ward's face fell. Her white brows knitted in a frown. 

"I'm an Amurrican, " she announced. "Mr and Mrs Hilliard had anintroduction to my people when they visited the States, and when I cameover to Europe they invited me here. I'm proud to death of being anAmurrican; that's of course! But there's something else. You might aswell know it first as last. " She straightened herself and drew afluttering breath. "I'm in trade! I'm Ward's Unrivalled PiquantPickles!"

"Wh-what?" Pixie stammered in confusion, as well she might, for theannouncement was unusual, to say the least of it. 

"Pickles! Cauliflower, and cabbage, and little snippets of vegetablesfloating in piquant sauce, in fat, square bottles. I make them in myfactory. If you went over to the States you'd see my placards on everywall, and inside magazines, and on the back sheets of newspapers--a big, fat man eating a plate of cold meat with Ward's unrivalled piquants byhis side. They used to be my father's: now they're mine. _I_ am theUnrivalled Piquant Pickles. I run the factory. The profits grow moree-normous every year. There's no other partners in it, only Me!"

If at the beginning of her speech the speaker had made an affectation ofhumility, she certainly ended on a note of pride, and Pixie's admirationwas transparently evident. 

"Think of that now! A whole factory, and pickles, too! I adorepickles, especially the fat, cauliflowery bits. And to see one's ownname on the hoardings! I'd be so proud!"

"Honest Injun, you would? You don't feel proud and lofty because I'm intrade, and had a grandfather who couldn't read, while _your_ ancestorshave been grandees for centuries? Many English people _do_, you know. They have a way of looking at me as if I were a hundred miles away, andstunted at that. And others who _do_ receive me don't trouble to hidethat it's for the sake of the dollars. A girl likes to be cared for for_herself_: she wants people should judge her by what she _is_. It's abig handicap, Pat-ricia, to be too rich. "

"I'll take your word for it, me dear, having no experience, " said Pixiegraciously; "but I'd like to be tried. As for caring--no one could helpit. I do already, and I've only known you three hours, and Esmeraldasaid you were nice enough to be Irish, and it isn't the easiest thing inthe world to please _her_ fancy. "

"She's a beautiful princess. She's been real sweet to me over here. I'm crazy about her!" Honor affirmed in the slow, dragging voice whichwent so quaintly with her exaggerated language. "But one Mrs Hilliarddon't make a world. You've got to be just as good to me as you knowhow, Pat-ricia, for I've got no one belonging to me on this side nearerthan an elderly cousin, twice removed, and it's a lonesome feeling. 

"You see, it isn't only what people think of _me_, it's the mean, suspicious feelings I've gotten towards _them_, as the result of beingbrought up an heiress. If I could tell you all I've endoored! Thethings I've been told! The things I've overheard! Twenty-three menhave asked me to marry them, and there wasn't an honest heart among thecrowd. I'm not a new-fashioned girl: I'm made so's I'd love my ownhome; but sure as fate I'll die an old maid, for _I_ run away fromfortune-hunters, and the honest men run away from me. If a man happenedto be poor and proud, it would be a pretty stiff undertaking to proposeto the biggest pickle factory in the world, and I guess I don't make itany easier. You see it's like this: the more I'm anxious that--that, er--er, " she stammered uncertainly for a moment, then with forcibleemphasis brought out a plural pronoun, "_they_ should care for me reallyand truly for _myself_, the more I think that they only think--"

"Exactly!" interrupted Pixie, nodding. "I quite understand. " Andindeed she looked so exceedingly alert and understanding that Honorflushed all over her small, pale face, and made haste to change theconversation. 

"How did you get on with your partner at dinner? Pretty well, eh? Hecan be real charming when he likes, and there's no doubt but he's goodto look at. I've met him quite a good deal since I've been over here, for he's been staying at several houses at the same time. From aEuropean point of view, we seem quite old friends, and I've a kind offellow-feeling for him, poor boy, for he's a sufferer from my complaintof being too well off for his own good. "

Pixie nodded several times without speaking, her lips pursed in knowing, elderly fashion. 

"That accounts for it, " she said, and when Honor queried eagerly as toher meaning, her reply had a blighting insinuation. 

"I'm accustomed to soldiers--men who can fight. "

"That's not fair!" cried Honor sharply. She straightened herself andtilted her head at an aggressive angle. "That's not fair. I guessStanor Vaughan and I have to go through our own military training, andit's a heap more complicated than marching round a barrack yard! We'rebound to make our own weapons, and our enemies are the worst that'smade--the sort that comes skulking along in the guise of friends. Therearen't any bands playing, either, to cheer us along, and when we winthere are no medals and honours, only maybe an aching heart!"

She drew herself up with a startled little laugh. 

"Mussy! Listen to me sermonising. --I guess I'd better get back to factsas fast as I know how. ... When I said Stanor was _too_ well off, Ididn't mean money exactly, but things are too easy for him all round. He's handsome, and strong, and clever, and charming, and there's anuncle in the background who plays fairy godfather and plans out his lifeahead, so that he has nothing to worry about like other young men. He'snot an old uncle really: he's almost young, but he had an accident as aboy which laid him up for quite a spell, and turned him into a shyrecluse. Then when at last he recovered, he was lame, so of course hewas cut off from active life, and I guess from what I've heard that he'ssensitive about it. Anyway, he lives all alone, and has adopted Stanoras a kind of son, and fusses over him like a hen with one chick--a bitmore than the young man appreciates, I fancy. "

"How fuss? In what way?"

"Oh! Ambitious, don't you know, " Miss Ward explained vaguely. "All thethings he ever wanted to be and to do, and couldn't, he is determinedthat Stanor shall do for him. He is clever, and studious, and serious, so he is set on it that the poor boy should be a book-worm, too, and putstudy before everything else, and have serious ideas on--er--er--theresponsibility of property. " Honor frowned at the tips of her smallsatin shoes. "Drains, you know, and cottages, and overcrowding thepoor. Of course that kind of thing comes easy enough when you arethirty-five and lame, but poor Stanor is only twenty-four, and ashandsome as paint. It's difficult to be serious-minded at twenty-four, and patient with people who fuss!"

Pixie knitted her brows with an air of perturbation. 

"But I hope he is nice to his uncle. It would be so hard to be hurt inyour body and hurt in your mind at the same time. It's bad enough forhim, poor creature, to have to sit still and live his life throughanother. His heart is not crippled, nor his mind, nor his will, andfancy, me dear, going on being patient, day after day, year after year, while your body held you back, and you longed, and couldn't, and feltthe spirit to move a mountain, and were obliged to lie still on a sofa!"Pixie bounced in a characteristic fashion on her own sofa corner, andwhisked a minute pocket-handkerchief to her eyes. "Excuse me, me dear, will you change the conversation? I was always soft-hearted, but redeyes at a dinner party are not _a la mode_. ... Let's talk aboutpickles!--"

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

PIXIE IS DULL. 

Geoffrey Hilliard and his two guests entered the drawing-room, andPixie's eyes turned to greet them with a smile. She was longing to talkto each one of them in turns, and with her usual complacency was assuredthat each would reciprocate the wish. But the next moment brought withit a jar, for Geoffrey crossed the room to join his wife, and the twoyounger men made a bee-line for the chair by the _other_ side of thesofa, whereon Honor sat ensconced!

It was only a minute, less than a minute, before Stanor had establisheda lead, and Mr Carr's deviation to the left was a triumph of smilingcomposure; nevertheless, Pixie's sharp eyes had seen and understood, andher heart felt a natural girlish pang. At twenty it is hard to acceptwith resignation the part of second fiddle, and Pixie's generosity hadits limits--as whose has not? She had looked at Honor's pretty face andcostly gown, had heard of her wealth and independence with the purestand most ungrudging pleasure, but when it became a case of superiorpopularity, that was a very different matter! Positively, it was quitean effort to twist her lips into a smile to greet Mr Carr, and it madematters no better to perceive the artificiality of his response. 

He was a man several years older than the handsome Stanor, and his typeof face was so essentially legal that his profession as barrister couldbe guessed even before it was known. His chin was the most pronouncedfeature of the face--it was really interesting to discover just howassertive a chin could be. It was a prominent, deeply indentedspecimen, which ascribed to itself so much power of expression that eventhe eyes themselves played a secondary part. The tilt of it, the droopof it, the aggressive tilt forward were each equally eloquent, and, onefelt sure, must make equal appeal to a British jury. 

At this moment, however, there was no jury at hand--only PixieO'Shaughnessy, feeling very small and snubbed in her corner of the sofa, and robbed for the moment of her accustomed aplomb by the blightingconsciousness that she was not wanted. 

Robert Carr's chin was leaning very dejectedly forward; he would havevoted his companion a tongue-tied little bore if Stanor Vaughan had nottaken the opportunity of a moment when his host was absent from thedining-room to recount her "sporting" forgiveness of his own _faux pas_. 

"That's the right sort. I like that girl!" had been Robert's reply, andthe good impression was strong enough to withstand a fair amount ofdiscouragement. 

So he discoursed to Pixie on the subject of pictures, of which she knewnothing; and she switched the conversation round to music, of which heknew less; and she cast furtive glances of longing towards the othercouple, who were laughing and chattering together with every appearanceof enjoyment, and he kept his eyes rigorously averted, while his chindrooped ever lower and lower in growing depression. Later on the wholeparty played several rather foolish games, of which Pixie had neverheard before, and in which she consequently did not shine, which wasstill another depressing circumstance to add to the list. 

When Esmeralda escorted her sister upstairs to bed she said blightingly, "You were very dull to-night, Pixie. Were you shy, by any chance?_Please_ don't be shy; it's such poor form!" which was not the mostsoothing night-cap in the world for a young woman who had privately madeup her mind to take society by storm. Not since the first night in thedormitory at Holly House had Pixie felt so lone and lorn as she did whenthe door was shut, and she was left alone in the big, luxurious bedroom. She stood before a swing mirror, gazing at her own reflection, contrasting it with those of Esmeralda and Honor, and reflecting on hersister's parting words. 

"This, " said she to herself, with melancholy resignation--"this is thesort of discipline that is good for the young! At this rate I'll growso chastened that they won't recognise me when I go home. " For a whole, minute she stood mute and motionless, pondering over the prospect; thenthe light danced back into her eyes, she shrugged her shoulders, andcomposedly began her undressing. 

The next day broke bright and warm, and after a leisurely breakfast thefour visitors strolled about for an hour, looking at the dogs and horsesand playing with the two small boys, who were making all the mischiefthey could on the cedar lawn, while their French nurse looked on withsympathetic enjoyment. 

Marie was quite a character in the household, and was admitted to adegree of intimacy rarely accorded to an English domestic. She was thatsomewhat unusual combination, a Parisian Protestant, but in otherrespects remained one of the most typically French creatures who wasever born. Meet her in any quarter of the world, in any nation, in anygarb, and for no fraction of a moment could the beholder doubt hernationality. She was French in appearance, in expression, in movement, in thought, in character, and in deed; lovable, intelligent, vivacious, easily irritated, but still more easily pleased, sharp of tongue, tenderof heart, and full to overflowing with humour. In appearance Marie wassmall and slight, with a sallow complexion which was the bane of herlife, black hair and beautiful white teeth. No one could call herhandsome, but she had certainly an attraction of her own. 

This morning Pixie arrived upon the scene in time to overhear a typicalconversation between the nurse and her two charges. Geoff, the elder ofthe two brothers, a handsome, imperious youngster, having overheard achance remark as to his own likeness to his mother, was engaged in arigorous cross-questioning of Marie, on the subject. 

"Marie, am I beautiful?"

"Leetle boys are not beautiful. It is enough when they are good. "

"My mother is beautiful. Mr Carr says I am like my mother. "

"Ugly people can be like beautiful people. How can a dirty little boybe like a _belle grande dame_? Regard thy hands! Four times alreadyhave they been scrubbed. "

"My hands can be clean when I like. I was talking of if I wasbeautiful. "

"Silence, miserable one! The appearance is of no account, " pronouncedMarie boldly. "To be good is better than beauty. "

Geoffrey drew his brows together in a frown. He was displeased, andwhen he was displeased he made himself felt. 

"I should fink, Marie, " he said deliberately, "that you must be thegoodest person in all the world. "

The inference was plain, so plain that sensitive little Jack coloured upto the roots of his hair. Jack was the sweetest and most lovable ofchildren--a flaxen-haired cherub, whose winning face and gentle waysmade him universally beloved. Among the children of the secondgeneration he stood out pre-eminently, and every one of his aunts anduncles enshrined him in a special niche of affection. Pixie had knownmany searchings of heart because of her own partiality, but was fain toconsole herself by the thought that Jack was even more like the belovedBridgie than Bridgie's own sturdy, commonplace son. 

As for Jack, he loved everybody, Marie among the number, and, feelingher depreciated, rushed stutteringly to the rescue. 

"Oh, Geoff!" he cried eagerly. "You souldn't! You souldn't, Geoff! Iknow somefing that's uglier than Marie--"

Geoff's scowl deepened. He might insinuate, but a barefaced puttinginto words outraged his feelings. His eyes sent out flashes oflightning at the innocent little blunderer, but Marie's eyes shone; herface was one beam of tender amusement. 

"What then, _cherie_? Tell thy Marie!"

"M-monkeys!" lisped Jack. 

The roar of derision which greeted this consolatory statement broughtthe startled tears into Jack's eyes, but Marie's arms wrapped round him, and her voice cooed in his ear. 

"Little pigeon! little cabbage! Weep not, my darling! Marie does notlaugh. Marie understands. It is true! The monkeys are more ugly thanI. "

Pixie turned, to find Esmeralda standing beside her, her brows frowning, while her lips smiled. She put her hand through her sister's arm anddrew her away. 

"Leave them alone; Marie manages them best. Poor, weeny Jack! He meantso well!" She drew a long sigh. "Those two boys are just a neweredition of their parents. Little Jack is Geoffrey over again--just thesame kind, patient, sensitive disposition; and Geoff is me. When he isin one of his moods it's like looking at myself in a mental glass. I'mfurious with him for showing me how hateful I can be, and at the sametime I understand what he is feeling so well that my heart nearly breakswith sympathy. It's terrible to feel that one is showing a bad exampleto one's own child, when one cares so much that at any moment one wouldbe willingly flayed alive to do him good!"

"Improve your example, me dear--wouldn't that be simpler!" cried Pixie, with an air of breezy common sense which was in startling contrast tothe other's tragic fervour. 

There was a time for everything, Pixie reflected, and it did _not_ seema judicious moment for a hostess to indulge in heroics, what time themembers of her house-party were advancing to meet her with faceswreathed in expectancy. They made a goodly picture in the springsunshine--the little trim girl and the two tall men attired in the easycountry kit which is so becoming to the Anglo-Saxon type. The younghostess looked at them and gave a start of recollection. 

"Oh, of course! I was forgetting. ... We have been arranging a picnic. Geoff has ordered the big car for eleven. He is to drive us atwenty-mile spin to the beginning of Frame Woods. The chauffeur will goon by train and meet us there, to take the car round by the high-roadand meet us a few miles farther on with the hampers. The woods arecarpeted with primroses just now, so we shall enjoy the walk, and itwill give us an appetite for lunch. "

Pixie gave a little prance of jubilation. 

"Lovely! Lovely! I adore picnics! We'll gather, sticks to boil akettle, to make tea, and boil eggs, like we used to do at home when anyone had a birthday. And the sticks always fell in, and the water gotsmoked!"

Honor and the two men had joined the sisters by this time, and stoodlooking on with amusement. 

"Miss O'Shaughnessy seems to appreciate smoked tea, " said Stanor, andPixie sturdily defended her position. 

"I don't; it's hateful! But you can have _nice_ tea every day, of yourlife, and the game _is_ worth the candle! You can always pour it awayand drink milk, and you've had all the fun--gathering the wood, andstoking, and looking at the smoke, and the blaze, and hearing thecrackle, and smelling the dear, _woody_ smell--"

"And blacking your hands, and spoiling your temper, and waiting for--howmany hours does it take for a watched kettle to boil?--and in the endthrowing away the result! You're easily pleased, Miss O'Shaughnessy!"

"I _am_, praise be!" assented Pixie, with a fervour which brought fourpairs of eyes upon her with a mingling of interest and admiration. 

So far as features were concerned, it was a plain little face on whichthey gazed; yet no one could have called it plain at that moment, for, it was irradiated by that rarest of all beauties, an expression ofradiant contentment. In comparison with that face those of thebeholders appeared tired and discouraged, old before their time, byreason of drooping lips, puckered brows, and wrinkled foreheads; and itwas evident that they themselves were aware of the fact, and stood, asit were, as amateurs before a master. Robert Carr poked forward hischin, and stared at her between narrowed eyes. Handsome Stanor smiledapproval, Honor slipped a little hand through her arm, and Esmeraldasighed and frowned, and said with a shrug--

"Oh, we've lived past that, Pixie! Nowadays we take thermos bottles, and luncheon baskets, and hot-water dishes, and dine just as--uninterestingly as we do at home! English people wouldn't thank you fora scramble. You must wait until you go back to Knock to Jack andSylvia, and even there the infection is creeping. Jack is developingquite a taste for luxury. "

"I like it myself. Dear Mrs Hilliard, please let us have luxuriesto-day!" Stanor pleaded; and Joan turned back to the house tosuperintend arrangements, while the four young people sauntered slowlyabout the grounds. Honor's hand still rested on Pixie's arm, and hervoice had a wistful tone as she said--

"I'd like to fix a picnic _your_ way some time, Pat-ricia! It would bea heap more fun. It must be fine to be a large family and make believetogether. It's a problem for an only child to make mischief all byitself. ... Did you have real good times in that old castle with thefunny name?"

"We did!" affirmed Pixie eloquently. "There were so many of us, and solittle to go round, that we were kept busy contriving and scheming thewhole time, and, when _that_ failed, falling back on imagination to fillin the gaps. It's more comfortable to be rich, but it's not half soexciting. When you have very few things, and wait an age for them, it'sthrilling beyond words when they _do_ arrive. When Bridgie re-coveredthe cushions in the drawing-room we all came to call in a string, andsat about on chairs, discussing the weather and studying the coloureffects from different angles. Then we turned on the light andpretended to be a party. I suppose Esmeralda never _notices_ acushion!"

Pixie sighed, and Honor stared, and Robert Carr looked from one to theother, his thin lips twitching in sarcastic fashion. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

A LONG, LONG LETTER. 

From Pixie O'Shaughnessy to Bridgie Victor:

"Not a moment have I had to write to you, Honey, since the first weenote, and I've been here a whole three days. It's the most distractingthing in the world when you've nothing to do, and takes up more timethan you'd believe. I think of you all in the morning in the dearlittle house, every one bustling round, and only longing for more handsand legs to get along the quicker, while here we sit, the six of us, dawdling over breakfast, with not a thing to think of but how to wastethe time until we can decently begin to eat again! It isn't energetic, and it isn't useful, and it isn't wise, or noble, or improving, oranything of the kind, but I won't disguise from you, my dear, that, byway of a change, it's exceedingly agreeable to the feelings. 

"In Esmeralda's language, there is no one here at present, which meansthat there are three other visitors besides my important self, and, whatis more, my dear, there's a full-fledged romance being acted under myvery eyes. Here's luck! Aren't things kind to happen so convenientlyfor me?

 "_Heroine_. Honor Ward, aged twenty-four. Orphan. Proprietress of Piquant Pickles Factory, Cheeving, Massachusetts, USA. Honor, who is of fair and pleasing exterior, is spending a year in Europe visiting various friends and connections. Honor is sensitive as to her enormous fortune, and suspects:--

 "_Robert Carr, Hero in Chief_, of being attracted thereby. Robert Carr is a barrister engaged in climbing the ladder. He loves Honor, but resents her attitude, and talks assiduously to:--

 "_Patricia O'Shaughnessy_, youngest scion of the house. Patricia is plain, but fascinating, and of noble disposition. She is anxious to reconcile the lovers. The more so as she herself prefers the companionship of:--

 "_Stanor Vaughan, Secondary Hero_, a beauteous youth of fair estate. Stanor being ardently in love with himself, does not return her passion. He treats her with sisterly affection. Patricia hides her chagrin beneath a mask of gaiety. 

"How's that for a start, Honey? Pretty thrilling, eh? Don't be anxiousabout the mask! It's so life-like that it deceives even myself intobelieving that it's the genuine article, but when dramatic happeningsare around, it isn't Pixie O'Shaughnessy who will stand aside and takeno part!

"On Wednesday we went for a picnic. It was meant to be a picnic _deluxe_, but fate was kind to us, and it turned out very alfresco indeed. We started in the big car, Geoffrey driving, and all sorts of goodthings piled up in hampers, and at an appointed place the chauffeur metus and took possession, while we walked on through the woods. Suchwoods, Bridgie; all sweet, and dim, and green, the trunks of the greatold beeches standing up straight and tall like the pillars of a greatcathedral, and sweet, innocent little primroses peeping up through themoss, and last year's leaves crackling under foot. Those primroses wentstraight to my head; I felt quite fey. 

"Strictly, between me and your sisterly ear, I was _very amusingindeed_, and they all appreciated me very much! And we laughed andtalked, and finally began to sing. 

"`You have a quite too beautiful voice, Miss O'Shaughnessy. Won't yousing to us in the drawing-room to-night?'

"`How sweet of you! Really, I shall be _too_ charmed!' (This is theorthodox fashionable manner of speaking. Let us be fashionable or die!)

"We sang glees. Esmeralda and I took contralto; there was practicallyno treble, for Honor's squeak was drowned fathoms deep; Geoffrey and MrCarr droned bass, and Stanor Vaughan took tenor, rather out of tune it'strue, but no man with that profile could be expected to condescend to_bass_! We sang `Come and _see_ the daylight dawning, on the meadow faraway, ' and Mr Carr said he must really make a point of going some day, and we've planned an early walk for next week, if any one can wake up intime. We roared `All among the barley, ' until the primroses lookedquite abashed, and turned into `Good-night, good-night beloved, ' tosoothe them down again, and we grew so intimate and festive, and theyall said, `What next, Miss O'Shaughnessy, what next?' Really, my dear, I was a _succes fou_. 

"But more is yet to come. It was so lovely and we were enjoyingourselves so much, that we dallied about, and took extra little detours, so that it was nearly two o'clock when we arrived at the appointed spot, and imagine, my dear, our thwarted hunger and thirst, when not a vestigeof a car could we behold! It was no use _waiting_, because if all hadgone right it should have been waiting for us for an hour at least. Sowe held a council of war at the side of the road. 

 "_Esmeralda_. `I shall give Dawson notice _At Once_! He has made some stupid mistake, and gone to the wrong place. I've no patience with blunderers. ' (She hasn't. )

 "_Geoffrey_. `Something may have gone wrong with the car. Don't blame the poor fellow till you are sure he deserves it. '

 "_Stanor_. `I don't care one rap about Dawson. I want my lunch! _With_ the luxuries! What price expectation _now_, Miss O'Shaughnessy?'

 "_Honor_. `I'm sorry to be disagreeable, but I've a blister on my heel. If it's a case of walking back, I must bid you all a fond adieu and take to a forest life. '

 "_Robert Carr_. `What can you expect if you start out on a country walk in ball-room slippers?'

"Honor said: `They aren't, and, anyway, I don't expect sympathy from_you_, ' and _I_ said: `Isn't there an opening into the road a littlenearer the village where the car may be waiting all the time?'

"`Mrs Dick, ' quoted Geoffrey, --`your common sense is invaluable!' andoff he started in advance while we all trailed in the rear, along thedusty high-road this time, and not by any means in a singing mood. Esmeralda stalked, and Honor limped. She hadn't done it a bit before, so it came on rather suddenly, and Stanor offered her his arm, and shehung upon it, and Mr Carr talked politics to me, and I tried to quoteDick's remarks and appear intelligent, but it didn't come off. 

"It was a mile, and more. It seemed like three, and when we arrived atthe opening the car was not there. We sat down against the dustyhedgerow and gave way to despair. Here we were stranded five wearymiles from our base, i. E. The hampers, and what were we going to do?Every one had a different suggestion, but the object of them all was thesame--_get something to eat_. It's humiliating how greedy people becomewhen they are defrauded of a meal! Dawson and the car were forgotten, everything was forgotten, and when I said that doctors were agreed thatwe ate too much, and an occasional starve was the most healthy thingthat could happen, they looked coldly on me, and Stanor said doctorsmight keep their theories, but give him _foie gras_! Finally we agreedto be scouts and go forth on a foraging expedition through the tinyvillage, seeking what we might devour. Geoffrey was the scout-master, and we were to meet him at the second lamp-post and report. 

"There were half a dozen cottages, one shop, and a yard where they soldcoal and fresh eggs. So that meant a cottage each, and the storesthrown in. Our orders were to knock on each door and stand close so asto have a good view of the interior when it was opened. If it was adirty interior we were to dissemble, and ask the way; if it was clean, we were to say, `Oh, if you please, we are stranded motorists, and doyou supply plain teas?' In case of _two_ being clean, the choice was tobe left with the scout-master, who would decide between them with tactand discretion. 

"Bridgie, it _was_ sport! They were _all_ clean, and they _all_supplied plain teas, but the astounding part was that no one couldsupply milk! (Esmeralda says she has never yet raided an Englishcottage where they _could_. ) And they all offered the same bill offare--tea with tinned milk, eggs, and spring onions! We chose thebiggest and airiest cottage, ordered eggs, looked haughtily at onions, adjourned to the village store and tried to discover some accessoriesamong the rope, firewood, and linoleum. There was tinned salmon, butEsmeralda said she objected to us dying on her hands, and loaf sugar, and treacle, and bull's-eyes in a glass bottle, and gingerbread biscuits(but the snap had departed, and they were so soft that you could haverolled them in balls), and some _very_ strong-looking cheese, and rowsof dried herrings packed in a box. 

"It was Hobson's choice, so we bought a herring apiece, and insisted onhaving each one wrapped up in paper, and carrying it across the road inour own separate hands, and _I_ bought a pound of bull's-eyes. They aresuch encouraging things on a long walk!

"It was a _delicious_ tea. The milk was rather greasy and hard to mix, but if you didn't think about it, it tasted almost as good as real, theeggs were fresh, and the herrings so good that Stanor ran across theroad for more, and we made time with bread and butter until they werecooked. And we gave not a thought to the motor; it was only when thesixth plate of bread and butter had been eaten to a crumb that weremembered the miles between us and the nearest station. Five or six itwas, nothing to trouble ordinary people, even if they would havepreferred a comfortable car, but there was Honor! She had slipped offher shoe under the table, and when she tried to put it on again it hurtso badly that she could hardly hobble across the room, and there was nota vehicle within miles. 

"We all fussed and wondered what could be done, except Mr Carr, whostrolled calmly out of the house without a word, lighting a cigarette ashe went, and after that Honor's foot got so suddenly worse that thetears came to her eyes. Five minutes later when we were still fussingand settling nothing, back he came, and in his hands, what do youthink?--you'd never guess--a pair of men's carpet slippers! I rememberin a dim, sub-conscious fashion having seen them hanging up in drab andcrimson bunches from the ceiling of the shop, but it had never occurredto me that they were to _wear_!"

"`You can walk in these!' said Mr Carr coolly, and without waiting tohear Honor's reply, he went down on his knees, and began unbuttoning hershoe. She has the daintiest mite of a foot you ever saw--it looked likea doll's in his big, strong hand--but she wasn't a bit grateful. Therewas a look on her face which sent all the others crowding to the door, but she glared at me to stay, and, being curious, I obeyed. 

"`Mr Carr, ' says she, --`this is too much! It is usual in my countryfor a man to ask a girl what she wants, before he takes it upon himselfto dictate!'

"He went on unfastening the shoe. 

"Occasionally one meets people who don't know what they _do_ want!

"`Well, I reckon I _do_. And it don't happen to be carpet slippers. I'd look a guy. What are you taking off that shoe for anyway? Thatfoot's all right!'

"`It wouldn't be right long. One flat shoe and one French heel make apoor pair. You are going to wear both. '

"`They're miles too large. They'd fall off on the road. '

"`Oh, no they won't. I'll take care of that, ' he said coolly, and tookfrom his pocket two strong black bootlaces which he proceeded tocriss-cross over the instep and round the ankles. She sat quite stillwatching him, her eyes very bright, her hands twisted together on herlap. When he had finished she put out her feet and stared at them--they_did_ look boats!--then she looked down at him. He was still kneeling, and there was not a sound to be heard in that kitchen but the tick ofthe old clock and the beat, beat, beat of Pixie O'Shaughnessy's heart. 

"`Don't you care, ' said she softly, `a mite _how_--I--look?'

"`Not a mite, ' says he coolly. `I care how you _feel_!'

"There was a look in his eyes which was not carpet slippers, far fromit, and Honor leaped up and swept to the door with what was intended tobe a haughty `sweep, ' but the slippers pad-padded at each step in a sortof shuffle, which was the unhaughtiest thing you could possibly imagine. Then Mr Carr gathered up the two tiny brown shoes and dusted themcarefully with his handkerchief, and slipped one into each pocket of hisNorfolk coat. Honor never bothered about her shoes: I suppose you don'twhen you own factories, but Mr Carr walked all the way with his handsin his pockets as if he had got something there that he liked to hold. 

"The children of the village followed us as we went, and called out, `Hi, look at her feet! Hi, Miss, is there room for me in themslippers?' as of course they would, bless them! And I will say for hershe took it smiling. 

"Two miles along the road the car met us, poor Dawson apoplectic withdistress and confusion. The engine had gone wrong, and he had had aterrible time getting it put right, and was distracted because he couldfind no way of sending on the hampers. We tumbled in and whirled homein peace and safety, but some of us were glad it had not come before. 

"Don't you wonder how I've accomplished this mammoth letter? There areso many times a day in this house when one has to dress in somethingdifferent, to do the next thing on the programme, and experience hasproved that I change in about a quarter the time taken by the others, sodown I sit and fill up the wait by scribbling a page or two more, and Ihope, my dear, the result will amuse you. 

"I wear my best clothes all day long, eat indigestible food, go to bedlate, get up later, and have Esmeralda's maid to do my hair. You'dthink it would need an effort to change into a fine lady all at once, but it doesn't; you just slip in, and feel like a sleek, stroked cat. My dear, I was born to be a Society Belle!

"Pixie. "

CHAPTER NINE. 

A RIFT. 

"Let me break it to you tenderly, " said Mrs Hilliard to her guests atbreakfast on the morning after the picnic, "that on Thursday there is abazaar, and that it's no use any of you making plans for that day or themorning before. The real reason why I invited you all just at thisparticular time is that you might assist, and be bright and pleasant andmake my stall a success. "

She smiled beguilingly as she spoke, and no one could be more beguilingthan Joan when it suited her own purpose. But her blandishments failedto propitiate her hearers, who one and all laid down knives and forksand fell back in their seats in attitudes expressive of dismay. 

"A bazaar. _Assist_? What bazaar? Where? What for? This is toosudden! Why were we not warned?"

Joan twinkled mischievously. 

"I was afraid you would run away. People are so surly about bazaars. It's in the village; for a parish nurse. She's new, and needs a cottageand furniture, and clothes and salary, and the money has to be found. Iwanted Geoffrey to give it right out, it's so much simpler, but hewouldn't. He thought it was right that other people should help. "

Geoffrey Hilliard said nothing. It was true that he thought it a wrongattitude for a whole parish to depend upon the gifts of one rich man, but an even stronger reason had been his desire to induce his wife totake some active interest in her poorer neighbours and to occupy herselfon their behalf. When Joan had unwillingly consented to take theprincipal stall at the bazaar, he had complacently expected a successionof committee meetings and sewing-bees, which would make a wholesomeinterest in a life spent too entirely in self-gratification; but theweeks had passed by, and the bazaar was at hand, and so far he hadobserved no symptoms of work on its behalf. 

He sat silently, waiting to glean information through the questioning ofhis guests. 

"I've taken part in bazaars before now. I'm an expert at bazaars. Bridgie has had part of a stall several times for things for theregiment; but _where is your work_?" demanded Pixie sternly. "When youtake part in a bazaar it means every room crowded out with cushions andtidies, and mats and pincushions, and sitting up at nights, finishingoff and sewing on prices, and days of packing up at the end, to saynothing of circulars and invitations, and your own aprons and caps. Ihaven't noticed a bit of fuss. How _can_ you be going to have a bazaarwithout any fuss?"

She looked so accusingly at her sister as she spoke that the otherslaughed, but there was a hint of uneasiness in the manner in which Joanglanced at her husband before replying. 

"There isn't any. Why should there be? Fancy work isn't my _forte_, and it would bore me to sobs _living_ bazaar for months ahead. I'vesent money to order ready-mades, and there are a pile of packing-casesstored away upstairs which will provide more than we want. They _ought_to do, considering the money I've spent! I expect the things will beall right. "

"Haven't you _looked_?" cried Pixie blankly, while Geoffrey flushed, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered a sarcastic "Charity made easy!"which brought an answering flash into his wife's eyes. 

"Is there anything particularly estimable in upsetting a whole house andwasting time in manufacturing fal-lals which nobody needs? I fail tosee it, " she retorted sharply, and Geoffrey shrugged again, his facegrim and displeased. 

It was not a pleasant moment for the listeners, and one and all weregrateful to Stanor Vaughan for the easy volubility, with which he dashedto the rescue. 

"I'll open the cases for you, Mrs Hilliard. I'm a nailer at openingcases; ought to have been a furniture remover by profession. Give mewood and nails, and a litter of straw and sawdust, and I'm in myelement. Better take 'em down to the hall and unpack them there, Isuppose? Safest plan with breakables. Jolly good crockery you get fromabroad! I was at winter sports with my sister, and she fell in lovewith a green pottery cruse business, half a franc, and as big as yourhead. I argued with her for an hour, but it was no good, buy it shewould, and cuddled it in her arms the whole way home! If you have anygreen cruses, Mrs Hilliard, I'll buy a dozen!"

Esmeralda thanked him, and proceeded to explain her arrangements in amanner elaborately composed. It appeared that she had displayedconsiderable ingenuity in the way of saving herself trouble. 

"I sent instructions to each place that every article was to be markedin plain figures. We shall just have to translate them into Englishmoney and add on a little more. It's unnecessary to re-mark everythingafresh. I've engaged a joiner to be at the hall ready to fix up anyboards or shelves which we may need, and of course he'll unpack. There's not the slightest reason for any one else to break his nails;there will be enough work for us on the day. "

"Are we to be dressed up in fancy character? It's all so sudden thatI'd like to know the worst at once, " sighed Honor plaintively. "I'vebeen a Swiss maiden, and I've been a Dolly Varden, and I've been the OldWoman that lived in a Shoe, so I guess I can bear another turn of thescrew. But I look real sweet in my new blue gown. "

"Wear it, then, wear it. It's ridiculous dressing up in daylight in avillage hall. Let every one wear what suits them best. "

"Wait till you see my waistcoat!" cried Stanor, and they rose from thetable laughing, and breakfast was at an end. 

Pixie made straight for the nursery. She was jarred and troubled by thescene which had just taken place, all the more so as it was by no meansthe first occasion during her short visit when Geoffrey and Joan hadunmistakably "jarred. "

In the old days at Knock Castle Esmeralda's tantrums had been acceptedas part of the daily life, but six years spent in the sunshine ofBridgie's home made a difference between husband and wife seem somethingabnormal and shocking. Imagine Dick sneering at Bridgie! ImagineBridgie snapping back and relapsing into haughty indifference! Thething was preposterous, unthinkable! Could that be the reason ofEsmeralda's unrest, that she and her husband had outgrown their love?Pixie felt it equally impossible at that moment to sit quietly alone, orto talk naturally to her fellow-guests, but experience had proved thatthe most absolutely certain method of getting out of herself was tocourt the society of children. So she shut herself in the nursery withthe two small boys, who took eery advantage of the unexpected treatwithout troubling their heads as to how it had come about. 

Meantime the three guests started off on the usual morning peregrinationof the grounds, and Joan followed her husband to his study, found himstaring aimlessly out of the window, and accosted him in cold and bitingtones. 

"Geoffrey, I wish to speak to you. You are entitled to your ownopinions, but the next time that you find them in opposition to mine Ishould be obliged if you would reserve your remarks until we are alone. If you have no consideration for me, you might at least consider yourguests; it cannot be agreeable for them to overhear our differences. "

Geoffrey did not move. He stood with his hands thrust deep into hispockets, his head drooping forward on his breast, an air of wearinessand depression in every line of his figure. For a minute there wassilence, then he spoke, slowly, and with frequent breaks, as thoughconsidering each word as it came--

"That is true. --I was to blame. --I should have waited, as you say. --Itshall not occur again, Joan. I apologise. "

Esmeralda looked at him. The fire died from her eyes, her lipstrembled. Quick to anger, she was equally quick to penitence, and asoft word could melt her hardest mood. She made a very lovely pictureat that moment, but her husband's back was still turned. He kept hishead rigorously turned aside as he crossed to his desk and seatedhimself on his swivel chair. 

"I have ordered the car for eleven, as you wished. "

"Thank you. "

Joan knew herself to be dismissed, but she had no intention of obeying. For her impetuous nature half-measures did not exist, and a peace thatwas not peace with honour seemed unworthy the name. She leaned over herhusband's desk, facing him with earnest eyes. 

"Geoffrey! Why were you so cross? It was unreasonable. I shall doquite well at my stall. People are sick to death of cushions andcosies, but they will snap at my beautiful things from abroad, whichthey don't often have a chance of buying. "

"I am sure of it. "

"Then why--why--? What on earth put you into such a bait?"

Geoffrey put down his pen and drew a long sigh. It was easy to see thathe dreaded a discussion, and was most unwillingly drawn into its toils. 

"Since you ask me, Joan, I was disappointed that you had taken so littlepersonal trouble over the affair. I could have given the money easilyenough; when I refused I was thinking more of you than of any one else. I hoped this bazaar might be the means of taking you out of yourself, ofbringing you in contact with people whose lives are not altogether givenup to self-indulgence. Your one idea seems to have been to avoid such acourse. "

"You would have liked me to have sewing meetings here as Mrs Ewart hasat the vicarage: plain sewing from two to four, and then tea and buns. You would have liked to see me sitting in the evening embroidering wildroses on tray cloths, and binding shaving-cases with blue ribbon?"

"I would, " said Geoffrey sturdily. He did not smile, as he had beenexpected to do, but sat grim and grave, refusing to be cajoled. 

Esmeralda's anger mounted once more. 

"Then I call it stupid and bigoted, and I absolutely disagree. If I'mto waste my time, I'll waste it in my own way, not in perpetratingatrocities to disfigure another home. And I hate village sewingmeetings and the dull, ugly frumps who go to them. "

Mr Hilliard took up his pen, squared his elbows, and quietly began towrite. 

"Geoffrey, can't you answer when I speak to you! I'm not a child to becowed and snubbed! I--I hate you when you get into this superior mood!"

Geoffrey lifted his face--was it the strong east light which made itsuddenly appear so lined and worn? There was no anger in his face, onlya very pitiful sadness. 

"I am afraid there are many moods in which you `hate' me, Esmeralda. "

The look on his face, the sound of the old pet name were too much forthe warm Irish heart. In a moment his wife was on her knees beside him, holding his hands, pressing them to her lips, stroking them withcaressing fingers. 

"Geoff, Geoff, it isn't true; you know it isn't. I always love you, Ialways did. You know it is true. I was ready to marry you when Ithought you hadn't a penny. I wanted nothing but yourself. "

"I never forget it, " said Geoffrey deeply; "I never can. Sometimes--sometimes I wish it had been true, it might have been better for usboth. `All that riches can buy' has not made a happy woman of you, Esmeralda. " He stroked back the hair from her broad, low brow, lookingwith troubled eyes at the fine lines which already marked its surface. "I can give my wife many treasures, but apparently not the thing sheneeds most of all--the happiness which Dick Victor manages to providefor Bridgie on a few hundreds a year!"

"Bridgie is Bridgie, and I'm myself; we were born different. It's notfair to compare us, and the advantages are not all on one side. If shehas not had my opportunities, she has escaped the temptations; she mighthave grown selfish too. Sometimes I hate money, Geoffrey; it's amillstone round one's neck. "

"No!" Geoffrey squared his shoulders. "It's a lever. I am glad to berich; my father worked hard for his money--it was honourably gained, andI'm proud to inherit it. It is a responsibility, a heavy one, if youlike, but one is bound to have responsibilities in life, and it's a finething to have one which holds such possibilities. I mean to bring upthe boys to take that view. But--" he paused heavily--"I'd give it upto-morrow if it could purchase peace and tranquillity, a rest from thiseverlasting strain!"

Something tightened over Joan's heart; a chill as of fear passed throughher blood. Geoffrey spoke quietly, so sanely, with an unmistakable airof knowing his own mind. And his manner was so cool, so detached, notone lover-like word or action had he vouchsafed in answer to her own. Achill passed through Joan's veins, the chill of dismay which presagesdisaster. At that moment she divined the certainty of what she hadnever before even dimly imagined--the waning of her husband's love. Like too many beautiful young wives, she had taken for granted that herplace in her husband's heart was established for life, independent ofany effort to retain it. She had not realised that love is a treasurewhich must needs be guarded with jealous care, that the delicate cordmay be strained so thin that a moment may come when it reachesbreaking-point. That moment had not come yet; surely, surely, it couldnot have come, but she felt the shadow. 

"Don't you love me any more, Geoffrey?" she asked faintly. "In spite ofall my faults, do you love me still like you did?"

It was the inevitable ending to a dissension, the inevitable questionwhich he had answered a hundred times, and if to-day there was a newtone in the voice which spoke it, Geoffrey was not sensitive enough tonotice. Few men would mark such differences in a moment of tension. 

"I love you, Joan, " he answered wearily. "You are my wife; but you'verubbed off the bloom!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joan got up quietly from her knees and crossed to the door. The voicewithin declared that Geoffrey would call her back, that he would leapafter her and clasp her in his arms, as he had done a score of times inlike circumstances, that he would implore forgiveness for his cruelwords. She walked slowly, pausing as she went to put a chair againstthe wall, to alter the position of a vase of flowers. She reached thedoor and cast a swift glance behind. Geoffrey had gone back to hiswriting; his pen travelled swiftly across the page; he did not raise hishead. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

PIXIE GIVES JOAN A TONIC. 

A romp with the children restored Pixie's elastic spirits, and brought arevived wish for her friends' society. She leaned out of the window andbeheld a game of tennis on in obvious need of a fourth player, wavedgaily in response to a general beckoning, and tripped downstairs singinga glad refrain. And then, in the corridor outside her boudoir, behold apale and tragic Esmeralda summoning her with a dramatic hand. Pixieflounced, and a quiver of indignation stiffened her small body. A wholehour of a lovely spring morning had already been spent in struggling toovercome the depression caused by the scene at breakfast, and here wasJoan obviously preparing a second edition. Pixie was no niggard insympathy, but for the moment she had other views. Two charming youngmen were waiting without in the sunshine, and any ordinary human girlprefers the sunshine and masculine society, to a room indoors and anhysterical sister. Therefore, being excessively human, Pixie flounced, and looked bored and impatient. She entered the room and shut the doorbehind her. 

"What's the matter _now_?"

The answer was sufficiently unexpected. 

"Pixie, if I die will you promise me faithfully to live here and takecharge of my orphan boys?"

"I will not!" snapped Pixie sharply. It was just what might have beenexpected for Esmeralda to picture her own tragic death as the result ofa passing squall. Quite possibly she had been sitting for the last hourpicturing the stages of her own decline and the grief of the survivors. Strong common sense was the best remedy she could have. "I hope to havemy own home to look after. And they are too spoiled. I wouldn'tundertake the charge. "

"Somebody, " croaked Esmeralda deeply, "somebody must look after myboys!"

"Don't you worry about that. Geoffrey'll marry again. They always dowhen the children are young. "

This was deliberate cruelty, but the strain was severe. Stanor wasstanding, racket in hand, gazing up at the window. The sunshine lit uphis handsome face, his expectant smile. Pixie gave another flounce andturned impatiently to meet the next lament; but Esmeralda was silent, her hands were clasped on her knee, and tears--_real_ tears--shone inher eyes. It was a rare thing for Joan to cry; the easy tears whichrose to her sisters' eyes in response to any emotion, pleasurable or thereverse, these were not for her. Looking back over the history of theirlives, Pixie could count the number of times when she had seen Joan cry. The outside world vanished from her memory in response to that appeal. 

"Esmeralda! _Darling_! You are not ill? You are not reallysuffering?"

Joan shook her head. 

"Quite strong, " she murmured miserably; "too strong. Only it seemsimpossible to live on in such misery. It's gone--the mainspring, everything! I can't drag along! Thank God, Pixie, you are here! Inever could bottle up my feelings. It's Geoffrey--he doesn't love meany more. I'm not imagining it--it's true! He told me himself. "

"What did he say?" demanded Pixie practically. She displayed no dismayat the announcement, being used to her sister's exaggerations, andfeeling abundantly convinced in her own mind that this was but anotherexample. Geoffrey was cross this morning, but five days' residenceunder his roof had abundantly demonstrated that his love was not dead. "Now, what exactly _did_ he say?" she repeated, and Joan faltered outthe dread words. 

There was silence in the room for a long minute. Then Pixie drew in herbreath with a sharp intake. "The _bloom_!" she repeated softly. "The_bloom_!" The beautiful significance of the term seemed to occupy hermind to the exclusion of the personal application. She had a vision oflove as the apotheosis of human affection, a wondrous combination ofkindliness, sympathy, courtesy, patience, unselfishness--all these, _andsomething more_--that mysterious, intangible quality which GeoffreyHilliard had so aptly described. Given "the bloom, " affection becameidealised, patience a joy, and selfishness ceased to exist, since thewell-being of another was preferred before one's own; courtesy andsympathy followed automatically, as attendant spirits who could not beseparated. Affection might exist, did often exist, in churlish, unlovely form, giving little happiness either to the giver or therecipient Love, the highest, was something infinitely precious, atreasure to be guarded with infinite care, lest in the stress of lifeits bloom should be destroyed. 

Joan, looking with anxious inquiry in her sister's face, read there anearnestness even exceeding her own. 

"Oh, _no_!" cried Pixie strongly. "Not that, not that, Esmeralda. Notthe bloom. It mustn't go; it's too precious. It means everything. Youmustn't _let_ it go!"

"But I told you it _had_ gone. It's too late. "

"No!" Pixie shook her head. "I know better. There's time yet, ifyou'll be warned. Last night, when you were comforting Jack after histumble, Geoffrey sat watching you as Dick watches Bridgie. It can't beall gone, when he looks like that. He has loved you, been proud of you, been patient with you for--how long is it you have been married? Sevenyears, and you need a lot of patience, Esmeralda! I suppose it's cometo this--that you've used up all the patience he has. "

It said volumes for Joan's penitence that she allowed such a statementto pass unchallenged, and even assented to it with meekness. 

"I suppose that's it. For the first few years it was all right. When Igot angry he only laughed; then he began to get impatient himself, andthis last year things have been going from bad to worse. When he spokestraight out it was easier; there was a row royal, and a grand `make up'at the end, but now he's so cold and calm. " Esmeralda's lip trembled atthe remembrance of the scene downstairs of the averted figure writingstolidly at the desk. She stared before her in silence for a dismalmoment, then added sharply: "And what in the world set him off at atangent this morning, of all others? There have been dozens of timeswhen I should have expected him to be furious, and he's been as mild asa lamb; and then of a sudden, when I was all innocent and unsuspicious, to flare up like that! There's no sense in it!"

"It's always the way with men. You can't reckon on them, " announcedPixie, with the seasoned air of one who has endured three husbands atleast. "Dick's the same--an angel of patience till just the moment whenyou've made sure of him, and then in a moment he snaps off your head--myhead, I mean, never Bridgie's. There's too much--bloom. " She put herlittle head on one side and pursed her lips in thought, with thecharacteristic Pixie air which carried Joan back to the days ofchildhood. "Now, isn't it odd, Esmeralda, how people cultivate almostevery good quality, and leave love to chance? They practise patienceand unselfishness, but seem to think love is beyond control. It comes, or--it goes. _Tant mieux_! _Tant pis_! My dear, if I married ahusband who loved me as Geoffrey loved you, it would be the big work ofmy life to keep him at it, and I'd expect it to _be_ work! You getnothing worth having without trouble, so why should you expect anexception for the very _best_ thing? And the poor man deserves someencouragement. _I'd give it to him_!"

Joan's lips twisted into a sad smile. 

"You understand a great deal, Pixie--more than I do, it seems, evenafter seven years! I never looked at things in that light. I justexpected Geoffrey to keep on adoring, whatever I did. What made youthink such things?"

"Nature!" said Pixie promptly. "And, my dear, I'm clever at loving--Ialways was. It's my only gift, and I _have_ studied it just as otherpeople study drawing and music. What you have to do, Esmeralda, is toforget everything and every one else for a while, and comfort Geoffrey. Don't make a scene and worry the poor man. Don't make a grand programmeof reformation, for that will put him off at the start. Just beginto-night and be sweet to him for a change. If you feel temper comingon, have it out on me! I'm used to you from a child, and if I get toomuch of it I can always run away and leave you; Geoffrey can't. It'smean to take advantage of a man that's bound. "

"If he _wanted_ to go, " began Joan haughtily, then subsided into tearsand helplessness. "Pixie! Pixie! It's so difficult! What can I do?"

"D'you need _me_ to tell you? Isn't it the _easiest_ thing in the worldto make love to your own husband, in your own house? Talk ofpropinquity! Always ready, always handy, if you can't manage _that_!My dear girl, the game's in your own hands. "

"Can a leopard change its spots?"

"We're not talking of leopards; we're talking of women--and they _can_bridle their tongues!"

Again Joan was silent. _Could she_? A great martyrdom, or heroiceffort, these she would have faced gladly, counting them a small priceto pay for her husband's love; but then how to subdue hasty impulses, tokeep a watch over her tongue--this seemed beyond her strength. And yetthe treasure which was threatened was of such inestimable value. It wasimpossible to contemplate life without it. Human life is uncertain, andthough she would not allow herself to dwell upon such a possibility, Joan had realised in her heart that a day might dawn when she would haveto part from husband or son. Death might come, she might have to sayfarewell to the dear human presence, but never, never had she imaginedfor a moment that she might be compelled to live on, having biddenfarewell to _love_! Geoffrey her lover, Geoffrey her husband, Geoffreythe father of her boys, was it a fact or a dreadful nightmare that hehad sat, untouched by her appeal, and confessed that ... That... 

Joan winced, unable to bear the repetition, and locked her hands moreclosely on her knee. Pixie glanced furtively through the window. Stanor had turned back to the tennis-ground and the three-handed gamehad been resumed. She stifled a pang of disappointment and sat quietlywaiting for further confidences, but presently Joan said quietly--

"Thank you, Pixie. Now--will you go? I want to think. You've beenvery sweet. "

"More bracing than sweet, my dear; but it was what you needed!" Pixierose with an alacrity which the other was, fortunately, too preoccupiedto notice, dropped a kiss on the lovely bent neck, and walked quicklyfrom the room. Joan had had the relief which her nature demanded ofgiving expression to her feelings; now it was best that she should bealone. Pixie had done her best to help, and now sunshine and Stanorwere waiting! In another five minutes she was playing tennis aswhole-heartedly as though it were her only business in life. 

Meanwhile Joan sat alone in her upstairs room, struggling with all theforce of her ardent, undisciplined nature to brace herself for thestruggle which lay before her. Prayer had become of late a mechanical, stereotype repetition of phrases; to-day there were no phrases--hardly, indeed, any definite words. In the extreme need of life she took refugein that voiceless cry for help, that child-like opening of the heartwhich is the truest relationship between the soul and God. She sat withclosed eyes and lifted face, penitent, receptive, waiting to be blessed. For the time being doubts were forgotten, everything seemed straightand plain. Then, being Esmeralda, the wayward, the undisciplined, themood of exultation faded, and depression held her once more. Theheavenly help and guidance seemed far-off and unreal. She was seizedwith impetuous necessity to act at once, to act for herself. Pixie'sproposals failed to satisfy her ardent desires. To wait weeks or monthsfor the reward she craved was beyond endurance. She must contrivesomething big, something soon, something that would demonstrate toGeoffrey her anxiety to please him. She racked her brain to find a way. 

Poor, impatient, undisciplined Esmeralda! How little she dreamed of thetragic consequences of that hour!

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

PIXIE TALKS ON LOVE. 

The immediate cause of Geoffrey's displeasure having been in connectionwith the bazaar, it appeared to Joan that it was in that connection alsothat she must make an amend. He had complained that she had failed ininterest and personal energy: by a supreme effort, then, she mustdemonstrate how his words had taken root. 

It was the eleventh hour; any one but an impulsive Irish woman wouldhave realised the futility of organising any fresh feature, and wouldhave contented herself with doing well what was already planned, butsuch tame methods were not for the woman who had been EsmeraldaO'Shaughnessy. She was accustomed to acting in haste; at home, atKnock, the most extensive entertainments had been organised at a fewhours' notice, and how much easier it would be now with a staff oftrained servants at her command and a purse full of money to buy thenecessary accessories, instead of being obliged to manufacture all thatwas required out of ordinary household goods. Joan heaved a sigh ofregret for the memory of those gay old days when a sheet and apillow-case had provided a fancy costume which had captivated Geoffreyat a glance, then knitted her brows afresh in the effort to think outsome scheme appropriate to the occasion. 

The vicar's wife had lamented a lack of music which would affordvariation from the prosaic business of buying and selling. At the timeJoan had suspected a hint, and had resolutely turned a deaf ear. Shehated singing to strangers, she hated singing in a building notablydeficient in acoustic properties, she had not the faintest intention ofvictimising herself for the sake of a village throng. But now, with thenew impetus driving her on, nothing seemed too hard or distasteful. Thevicar's wife should have her music--music with such accessories as ithad never entered her modest head to imagine, music which should be thefeature _par excellence_ of the bazaar. Joan's was a quick, inventivebrain; within half an hour she had mentally arranged her programme, madea list of the necessary accessories, and planned how they should beprocured. 

When the little party were again assembled for luncheon she was able tostate her plans with an air of complete assurance which left thembreathless with astonishment. She had decided to provide two shortconcerts, one in the afternoon, one in the evening. She would sing twosongs; Pixie should do the same. They would all join in appropriatepart songs. By way of a climax the last number on the programme shouldbe illustrated by a _tableau vivant_. She proposed to write specialwords to a well-known air which, together with the tableau, shouldillustrate the benefits which the bazaar was destined to provide for thevillagers. The tableau should represent a scene in a cottage interiorin which were grouped four figures--a child suffering from an accident, a distraught mother, a helpless father, and in the background, bendingbeneficently over the patient, the parish nurse. 

Esmeralda looked around for approval, and met the stare of blank anddoubtful faces. 

"Er--a bit lugubrious, isn't it, Mrs Hilliard?" ventured Stanor atlast, voicing the general impression so strongly that Esmeralda'simagination instantly took another leap. 

"Certainly not, for I should have a second tableau to follow to show thehappy convalescence--child sitting up in bed, pale but smiling, nursebringing in bunch of flowers, father and mother, with outstretchedhands, pouring out thanks. "

"That's better! That's more like it!"

The murmur of approval passed down the table. Pixie laid her head onone side in smiling consideration. Yes, it would go; arranged withEsmeralda's skill and taste the scenes would be pretty and touching, especially when seen to the accompaniment of her beautiful voice. Theshortness of the time allowed for preparation troubled Pixie no morethan her sister. She smiled at Esmeralda and nodded a cheeryencouragement. 

"I'll be the distracted mother, and weep into my apron. Honor will looka duck in a cap. Who's to be the little victim?"

"Jack, of course. He'll look too sweet, " said Jack's proud mother. "Can't you imagine him, sitting up in bed with his curls peeping outbeneath his bandages--he must have bandages--smiling like a littleangel! He'd bring down the house. The people would love to see him. "

Then for the first time Geoffrey spoke. So far he had listened to theconversation in a silence which both his wife and sister-in-law felt tobe disappointingly unsympathetic. Now his objections were put intowords--

"Isn't Jack rather young and--er--sensitive for such a public role? Ishould have thought that your concert would be complete withouttroubling about a tableau. In any case, there are plenty of villagechildren. "

"Not with Jack's face. He is sensitive, of course, but he's not shy;he'd enjoy the excitement. And we should be there; he could come to noharm. "

"And the evening performance? Would you propose that he sat up for thatalso?"

Joan pressed her lips together in the struggle for patience. ReallyGeoffrey was too bad! What did he mean? What did he want? The wholescheme had been planned to give him pleasure, and here he was, silent, disapproving, throwing cold water. The effort at restraint made hervoice sound unnatural even in her own ears. 

"If we had the tableau in the afternoon, it would hardly do to leave itout in the evening--the only time when the villagers themselves will beable to be present. "

Before Geoffrey could reply the heel of Pixie's shoe pressed firmly onhis foot beneath the table, and a warning glance silenced his words. Amoment later, when the discussion of pros and cons waxed loud at the farend of the table, she whispered an explanation--

"Don't object, don't argue. It's to _please you_! You said she hadtaken no trouble. "

Geoffrey Hilliard's glance of comprehension had in it more of wearinessthan elation. Pixie noting the fact, felt a rising of irritation, andmentally dubbed him ungracious and unreasonable, as Esmeralda had donebefore her. Both failed to appreciate the fact that sudden spasms ofenergy were by no means an innovation in the family history, and whatthe tired man was really longing for was that ordered peace andtranquillity which form the English idea of home. He made no furtherobjections, however, and Joan threw herself whole-heartedly into herpreparations, determined on a success which must win approval as by a_tour de force_. 

The three days following were far from peaceful, but if the master ofthe house kept aloof from the stir and bustle, his guests threwthemselves into it with every appearance of enjoyment. Strains of musicsounded from the drawing-room and mingled with the tap-tapping ofhammers from an upper room where realistic scenery was beingmanufactured under Joan's able supervision. The new system ofthoroughness demanded, moreover, that the stored-up cases should beopened, and the contents unpacked, dusted, and re-priced, a work initself of many hours. 

The four guests started thereon with equal vigour, but Honor took anearly opportunity of slipping away. She was tired, she had a headache, she must finish a book, there were half a dozen stock excuses, each oneof which seemed to demand an instant adjournment to the garden. Shemade the announcement in a high, clear drawl and sailed out of the roomwithout leaving time for protest. Whereupon Robert Carr attacked thework on hand with feverish zeal, worked like a nigger for five or tenminutes by the clock, and finally bolted out of the door, without, inhis case, going through the form of an excuse. Then the two workers whowere left looked out of the window and beheld the truants seated atextreme ends of a garden seat, hardly speaking to each other, looking onthe most stiff and formal of terms. 

Stanor laughed at the sight, but Pixie's practical mind could notreconcile itself to such contradictory behaviour. 

"Where's the sense of it?" she asked. "Where's the fun? To play truantto sit on a bench and sulk! Wouldn't it be far more fun, now, to workup here with nice cheerful people like yourself and--me?"

But Stanor knew better. 

"Not a bit of it, " he returned. "They'd rather quarrel by themselvesall day long than be happy with outsiders, even such fascinating peopleas ourselves. It's a symptom of the disease. Of course, you havegrasped the fact that they _are_ suffering from a disease?"

"I have. I can use my eyes. But _why_?" cried Pixie, rounding on himwith sudden energy, "_why_, will you tell me, can't they be happy andcomfortable and get engaged and be done with it? What's the sense ofpretending one thing when you mean another, and sulking and quarrellingwhen you might--"

"Quite so, " assented Stanor, laughing. "Odd, isn't it; but they _will_, you know. Never any knowing what they _will_ do when it takes them likethat. Besides, in this case there are complications. Miss Ward haspots of money, and poor old Carr has nothing but what he makes. He'llget on all right--a fellow with that chin is bound to get on--but ittakes time, and meantime it's a bit of an impasse. A fellow doesn'tmind his wife having _some_ money--it's a good thing for her as well asfor himself--but when it comes to a pile like that--well, if he has anyself-respect, he simply can't do it!"

"If _I_ had a pile, I'd expect my lover to accept it from me as gladlyas I'd take it from him. If he didn't, I should feel he didn't love meenough. "

"You'd be wrong there. He might love you enough to wish to save youfrom a jolly uncomfortable position. It's not right that a man shouldbe dependent upon his wife. Puts him in a false position. "

"Not if he really loved her. How could it? He'd realise then that in alife together there would be no `yours' or `mine. ' It would all be`_ours_. '"

Stanor lifted his head to look at her, and Pixie's clear eyes met his ina full frank gaze which held no shadow of embarrassment. Here wassomething quite new--a girl who could speak about love to a young manwithout a trace of self-consciousness or flirtation, yet with anearnestness which demonstrated a keen personal interest. Stanor hadmany girl friends with whom he had often discussed the subject, butinvariably a certain amount of self-consciousness had crept in, whichhad shown itself alternately in cynicism or sentimentality. 

Now, to his own amazement, he realised that _he_ was the one to feelembarrassment, while Pixie confided her sentiments as placidly as if hehad been a maiden aunt. He stared at her as she stood before him, atrim, quaint little figure enveloped in a print overall, beneath whichher feet appeared absurdly small and doll-like, and as he looked hisheart gave a curious, unexpected leap. He had felt that leap before, and the meaning of it was no mystery to him, though in this particularinstance it was sufficiently astonishing. 

Handsome, accomplished, the presumptive heir to a fortune, StanorVaughan had been a pet of society for the last half-dozen years, andbeing by nature susceptible to girlish charm had more than once imaginedhimself seriously in love. There had been, for example, that beautifulblonde whose society had turned a summer holiday into a veritable idyll. He had been on the verge of proposing to her when his uncle hadsuddenly summoned him home, and--well, somehow the restless misery ofthe first few days had disappeared with surprising rapidity, the visionhad grown dim, and finally faded from sight. 

Again it had been a charming brunette, and this time he had been sure ofhimself, perfectly sure. He was awaiting an opportunity to speak whenagain a summons had arrived, a pleasant one this time, since it took theform of an invitation to accompany his uncle on a prolonged continentaltour. There had been no time to think. He had barely time to pack hisbag and be off. And at the end of a month, well! He had begun tohesitate and doubt, and the episode ended like the first. 

Curious, when he came to think about it, how the Runkle had in bothcases played the part of _deus ex machina_. It was coincidence, ofcourse, pure coincidence, for the old fellow had not known the girlseven by name, but it _was_ odd! As for his own part in the proceeding, both girls had been unusually charming specimens of the modern societygirl, it was natural enough that he should have been impressed, but ifit was really the fact that he was falling in love with this IrishPixie, that was another, and a very different matter. 

With a darting thought Stanor recalled his impressions on first meetingthe girl a week before, and his own outspoken surprise at theinsignificance of the sister of his beautiful hostess. A plain, oddlittle creature, that had been the involuntary verdict, but almostimmediately it had been amended. Plain, but charming; distinctly thelittle thing had charm! Now, at the expiration of six days it had cometo this, that his eyes no longer noted the faulty outline, but found acontinual joy in watching the play of expression, the vivid life andinterest of the sparkling little face. This was the real thing at last, Stanor told himself: it must be the real thing! Mingled with all hisexcitement and perturbation, he was conscious of a thrill ofself-appreciation. It was not every man of his age who would put beautyof character before that of feature. He threw a deliberate_empressement_ into his gaze, and said meaningly--

"Your husband, Miss Pixie, will be a lucky man!"

"He will so, " agreed Pixie warmly. She gave a soft, musical laugh as ifthe thought were a pleasant one to dwell on, but Stanor was sensitiveenough to realise that his own image played no part in her dreams. Shetook up her pen and returned to the scribbling of prices on small paperlabels. "Russian lace, five shillings a yard. Russian lacquercollar-box. Don't you hate that shiny red? Of course, when I talked offortunes I was only putting myself in her place. I've nothing. None ofus have. When My lover comes, there'll be only--_Me_!" The wordssounded modest enough, but there was a complacence in the tilt of thehead which told another story. Pixie O'Shaughnessy had no pity to wasteon the man who should win herself. 

Stanor's lip twisted in a self-conscious smile. The other girls hadbeen rich. He pondered for a moment, and then said suddenly--

"I wonder, Miss Pixie, with your temperament, and--er--under thecircumstances that you have not been fired with the modern craze to dosomething before now. Girls nowadays don't seem happy unless they havesome work--"

"But I _have_, I have! Did you think I was idle?" She looked at himwith reproachful eyes. "This is a holiday. I'm sampling luxury for achange, and I won't deny it's agreeable, but at home all the year I'm atwork from morning to night. I don't know how to get _through_ my work. "

So she had a profession then, after all! Stanor felt an amusedconviction that whatever the post might be the little thing would fillit uncommonly well. Small and child-like as she appeared, she yetcarried with her that air of assurance which is the heritage of thecapable. It interested him to consider for a moment what particularrole she had adopted, and more than one possibility had passed throughhis head before he put the question into words--

"And what exactly _do_ you do, Miss Pixie?"

She stared at him blankly. 

"Now, if you'd asked me to say what I do _not_ do, it would have beeneasier. Have you any sort of idea what it means to keep a home goingwith big ideas and little means, and a cook-general to thwart yourefforts? If you have, you can imagine the list. Dusting, sewing, mending, turning, making, _un_-making, helping Bridgie, amusing thechildren, soothing the servants, humouring Dick, making dresses, trimming hats, covering cushions, teaching the alphabet, practisingsongs, arranging flowers, watering plants, going to shops, making upparcels, writing notes, making--"

Stanor held up his hands in protest. 

"Stop! Have pity on me! What an appalling list! Isn't it nearly done?My ears are deafened! I am overcome with the thought of suchactivity!" Nevertheless the smile with which he regarded her wasdistinctly approving, for, like most men, he preferred domestic womenwho did not despise home work. "I'll tell you what it is, " he addedwarmly, "Mrs Victor is like the other fellow--jolly lucky to have you!There are precious few girls who would give up their whole lives to asister. "

"Bridgie is more than a sister. She's meant father and mother and hometo me for over ten years. My parents died when I was so young. "

"Like mine. That's a point of union between us. My uncle has playedthe part of your Bridgie. "

"He has; I know it. He's lame, " answered Pixie swiftly, and was amazedat the heat with which the young fellow replied--

"Lame? Who said so? Who told you? What does it matter if he _is_lame?"

"Not one bit. I was only--sorry. I didn't mean to be unkind or torepeat anything I shouldn't. Why are you vexed?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and snapped the scissors over a coil ofstring. 

"Oh, nothing. Gets on one's nerves a bit that's all. He's such a finefellow, he would have been such a brick, but that wretched lameness hasspoiled it all. Till he was eighteen he was as strong as a horse--afine, upstanding young giant he must have been. Then came theaccident--pitched from his horse against a stone wall--and for twelvesolid years he lay on his back. That made him only thirty, but youwould never have believed it to see him. He was a lot more like a manof fifty. "

Pixie laid her pen on the table, and rested her chin in the claspedhands. Her eyes looked very large and wistful. 

"Twelve years on one's back would be pretty long. One would live sofast _inside_ all the while one's body was idle. 'Twould age you. Ifit had happened when he was fifty, 'twould have been easier, but ateighteen one feels so lively and awake. Anything, _anything_ would seembetter than to do just nothing! To wake each morning and know there wasnothing before one all the long hours, but to lie still! Other peoplewould get accustomed to it for you--that would be one of the bits whichwould hurt the most--for you'd never be accustomed yourself. And whichwould be worst, do you think--the days when it was dull and the room wasdark, or the days when the sun blazed, begging him to come out?"

Stanor shook himself with an involuntary shiver. 

"Don't!" he cried sharply. "Don't talk like that! What an imaginationyou have! I've been enough cut up about it, goodness knows, but I neverrealised all that it meant. ... Well! He is better now, so we needn'tgrouse about it any more. It's only that's it's left a mark! He wasturned in a moment from a boy into an old man--his youth was killed, _and he can't get it back_! That's one reason why he's so jolly anxiousabout me. Like most fellows he sets an exaggerated value on the thingshe has missed himself, and it's a craze with him to--as he callsit--`safeguard my youth. ' He is trying to live his own lost days againthrough me, poor fellow, and it's a poor game. Outsiders take forgranted that I'm his heir, but that's bosh. Fellows of thirty-fivedon't worry about heirs. He has never mentioned the subject; all he_has_ done is to give me every chance in the way of education, and topromise me a good `start off. ' I'd have been ready to tackle seriouswork at once, but he is against a fellow having real responsibilityuntil he's had time to feel his feet. I've had to work, of course--he'skeen on that; but he's keen on recreation, too, and freedom fromresponsibility. He believes, poor chap, that if a fellow has freedombetween twenty and thirty, he is better fitted to take up responsi--"Stanor stopped short suddenly, and the blood rushed to his cheeks. "Iwonder!" he repeated blankly; "I wonder!"

For the first time revelation had come home to him with a flash that hisuncle's interference in those two incipient love affairs had not beencoincidence, but a deeply matured plan. He recalled occasions whenchance words had betrayed a surprising acquaintance with his own doings, the houses at which he visited, and the feminine members of thosehouseholds. Unsuspecting himself, he had doubtless betrayed more thanhe knew. In more ways than one his uncle had determined to safeguardhis freedom during these early years!

Stanor set his lips. The discovery was no more pleasant to him than itwould be to any other young man of his age. A certain amount of"management" a fellow must be ready to accept from one who had been sogenerous a friend, but this was going too far. The Runkle must be shownthat in purely personal matters his nephew would allow no one tointerfere!

The frown continued for several minutes, but finally gave place to asmile, for a consideration of the present position had led him to acomfortable conclusion. The Runkle would be on a wrong tack this time!If he scented any attraction among the members of Mrs Hilliard'shouse-party, it would of a certainty be attributed to the prettyAmerican heiress, Honor Ward. No one would suspect for a moment thatthe fastidious Stanor Vaughan had been laid captive by a plain andpenniless Irish Pixie!

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

THE BAZAAR. 

The morning of the bazaar was radiantly fine, so that one fear at leastwas banished from the hearts of the anxious stall-holders. No excusenow for patrons living at a distance! No room for written regrets, enclosing minute postal-orders. Any one who wanted to come, _could_come, and woe betide the contents of their purse!

Mrs Hilliard's stall was placed in the centre of the hall, and inaccordance with her own directions had been made in the shape of a greatround table, within the hollowed centre of which she and her girlhelpers could be protected from the crowd, while without attendantsprites in the persons of the two young men hovered about ready to dotheir bidding. 

Not a single article of needlework appeared upon the stall; not asolitary pincushion, nor handkerchief sachet, nor nightdress bag, noteven so much as an inoffensive tray cloth. There was pottery fromPortugal, and pottery from France, pottery from Switzerland in the shapeof jam and marmalade jars, originally purchased for twopence apiece, andoffered for sale at an alarming sacrifice for a shilling. There werebeads from Venice, and tiles from Holland, and fans from Spain, and adisplay of Venetian glass especially provided for the entrapment ofcounty families. There was dainty English china (on sale or return), and flagons of Eau de Cologne, and white and blue Della Noblia plaquesfrom Florence, and a dozen other dainty and perishable treasures. 

"Everything!" exclaimed Pixie proudly, as she stood with arms akimbo toview the completed stall, "everything can break! Not one single thingthat you couldn't smash in a twinkling, and no bother about it. It'swhat I call a most _considerate_ stall, the most considerate I've everseen!"

Esmeralda laughed with complacent understanding, but the two men staredaghast. 

"Is it the object of purchasers to get rid of their purchases as soon asthey are made? Then why do they bother to--"

"It is, and they have to. It's expected of them, and they can't escape, but you need to be soft-hearted and live in a poor neighbourhood tounderstand the horror of the bazaar habit. I'll tell you a story to thepoint. " Pixie's eyes danced, she preened herself for prospectiveenjoyment. 

"There was once a rich old lady, and she sent a pink satin cushion as acontribution to my sister Bridgie's stall at a military bazaar threeyears ago. 'Twas a violent pink, with sprays of dog roses and a frillof yellow lace, and not a soul would look at it if they had been paidfor the trouble. 'Twas tossed about the stall for two whole days, andon the third, just at the closing, the Colonel's wife came in with fivepounds in her pocket which had arrived by post for the cause. Shewandered about like a lost sheep from one stall to another, looking foranything that would be of any use to anybody in the world, and it was anageing process to get rid of four pounds five. Then she stuck. In thewhole room there was not one thing she'd have been paid to buy. 

"And then 'twas Bridgie's chance, and she beguiled her with the cushionfor fifteen shillings, saying the down itself was worth it. So shebought it to make weight, and sent it to the Major's wife, with her dearlove, for Christmas. The Major's wife wore it on the sofa for a wholeafternoon when the Colonel's wife came to tea, and then packed it awayin the spare room wardrobe till a young curate brought back a bride, andthen she shook it up and ironed the lace and sent it, with all bestwishes, for a wedding present. The curate's wife wore it for oneafternoon, just in the same way, and then _she_ packed it away, and whenChristmas came round she said to her husband that the Colonel's wife hadbeen so kind and helpful, and wouldn't it be nice to make a slightreturn if it were within their means, and what about the cushion? So onthe very next Christmas the Colonel's wife got a nice fat parcel, andwhen it was opened, there, before her eyes--"

"Ha, ha ha!"

"Ho, ho, ho!"

The two young men anticipated the point with roars of laughter, andPixie whisked round to the other side of the stall to cock her head at apyramid of green pottery, and move the principal pieces an inch to theright, a thought to the left, with intent to improve the _coup d'oeil_. To the masculine eye it did not seem possible that such infinitesimaltouches could have the slightest effect, but then bazaars are intendedprimarily for the entrapment of women, and Pixie knew very well thatwith them first impressions were all important. Every shopkeeperrealises as much, which is the reason why he labels his goods just afarthing beneath the ultimate shilling. The feminine conscience mightpossibly shy at paying a whole three shillings for a bauble which couldbe done without, but, let the eye catch sight of an impressive _Two_, and the small eleven three-farthings is swallowed at a gulp!

At two o'clock the bazaar was formally opened in a ceremony which tookexactly ten minutes, and was so dull that it appeared to have lasted along half-hour. 

Geoffrey Hilliard, as squire of the village, gave an elaborateexplanation of the pressing need of a parish nurse, which his hearersalready understood far better than he did himself; the wife of aneighbouring squire said that she had found a parish nurse a greatacquisition in her own village, and she had very much pleasure indeclaring the bazaar open, and the vicar returned thanks to theneighbouring squire's wife for her kindness in "being present among usto-day, " and then every one clapped feebly, and the bazaar had begun. 

The few county people who were present sauntered round Esmeralda'sstall, bought trophies of china and glass, and promptly whirled away intheir motors, feeling that they had nobly discharged a duty. There wasno denying the fact that it was a dull occasion, and an arduous one intothe bargain for sales-women who wanted to get rid of their wares. 

The hall was sparsely filled, and the good ladies who were present hadcome with a certain amount of money in their purses, and a fixed idea ofthe manner in which they intended to spend it. They would pay foradmission, they would pay for tea, they would pay for the concert--conceivably they might even indulge in a second tea--they would purchasebuttonholes of hot-house flowers, patronise side shows, and possiblyexpend a few shillings at the grocery stall ("Should have to buy them inany case, my dear!") but there the list of their expenditure came to anend. Even when Honor and Pixie were driven out of their fastness, andwalked boldly to and fro, hawking tempting selections from the stall, they met with but little success, for if there is no money left in thepurse, the best will in the world cannot produce it. 

"Wouldn't you like to buy this lovely little plaque of Della Robbia, from Florence?" inquired Pixie genially of a group of portly matrons. "Reduced to seven and six. Ten shillings at the beginning of theafternoon. Less than cost price!"

"Very pretty!" murmured the ladies, and the portliest of them went astep further and added: "_And_ cheap!" but no one showed the faintestdisposition to buy. 

"It would look so well in the dark corner of the drawing-room!"suggested Pixie, drawing a bow at a venture, and the three facesinstantly became thoughtful and intent. 

"That's true. It might do that. Does it hang?"

"It is made to hang, " Pixie exhibited the holes pierced in the china, "but I should _prefer_ it on a bracket! A bracket nailed across acorner at just the right height, and the plaque put across it, so thatyou could see it from all parts of the room. --Is your drawing-roomblue?"

"Pale blue. "

"How charming! It would just set off this darker shade. "

"Mine is not blue. It is pink. "

"But think of the contrast! Blue and pink! What could be sweeter? Itwould look perfect against your walls! Shall I make it up safely in abox? We have a special parcels department. "

"Not to-day, thank you, " said the owner of the blue drawing-room. "I'llthink of it, " said the owner of the pink. The silent third askedtentatively: "Could you make it five?"

The next group were more hopeless still. They didn't like Della Robbia. Common, they called it, that bright yellow and blue. Pixie wasinformed that if she offered the plaque for nothing it would bedeclined. She carried it dejectedly back to the stall, piled a traywith marmalade jars, gave it to Stanor to carry, and started off onanother promenade. 

"Marmalade jars! Fine marmalade jars! Who will buy my marmalade jars?"chanted the young man loudly, and the audience giggled, and listenedwith indulgent looks, even went so far as to finger the jars themselves, admire the design, and marvel how they could have been made for theprice, but not a single one of the number had a vacancy for such anarticle in the home. Even when Stanor suggested that the jars were notdedicated to marmalade alone, but might be used for jam, for honey, forsyrup, the supply seemed ridiculously out of proportion to the demand, and half an hour's exercise of his own pleading, seconded by Pixie'sbeguilements, brought in a total result of three shillings, which, tosay the least of it, seemed inadequate. 

"At this rate, " said Esmeralda, "we shall have a van-load to take home!"Honor, seated dejectedly on an inverted packing-chest, discoursed in athin, monotonous tone on the glories of charity sales in the States. They were always crowded, it appeared; policemen stood at the doors toprevent a crush; the buying was in the nature of a competition. Younggirls offering wares for sale found themselves surrounded by throngs ofmillionaires, bidding against each other for the privilege of obtainingany article which she was pleased to offer. Having accomplished apurchase, it became the overwhelming desire of the purchaser to presentthe article in question as a votive offering to the fair sales-womanherself. ... Such a recital was hardly calculative to enliven theoccasion. Esmeralda frowned, and Pixie sighed, and for the first timein her existence doubted the entire superiority of being born a Briton. She remembered her rebuffs with the Della Robbia plaque and thoughtwistfully of those millionaires!

The concert, however, was a success: the room was filled, the audiencewas appreciative, and lovely little Jack in the character of an invalidevoked storms of applause. The spirits of the performers were improvedby their success, but as the audience now cleared off rapidly on dinnerintent, there seemed no reason why Geoffrey, Stanor, and Robert Carrshould not follow their example. The suggestion was made, Esmeraldavouchsafed a gracious permission, and went off herself to parley withanother stall-holder. The three men made for the door, with reliefwritten on every line of their figures, and the two girls remained onduty seated on packing-cases. 

"At home in the States, " remarked Honor severely, "the men would not be_paid_ to run off home to dine in comfort, leaving the girls alone towork. "

"On sandwiches!" supplemented Pixie sadly, "and stewed tea!" She washungry herself, and could have appreciated a well-cooked meal. "I'dlike to know some American men, " she opined. "You must be longing toget back to them, as they are so much more appreciative and polite thanour men over here!"

Honor blushed, and regarded the points of her neat little shoes. 

"There are a great many things, Pat-ricia, " she said slowly, "that agirl ought to do if she were logical, and consistent, and acted up towhat she preached. But she isn't, and she don't. I'm not in a mite ofa hurry to get back... "

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The hall was packed to overflowing for the evening concert, additionalchairs were placed down the aisles, and even after they were filled, anumber of people had to be content with standing places at the back. The performers peeping round the corner of the stage felt a mingling ofnervousness and excitement, and vociferously instructed every one elseto pull his or her self together, and do his or her best. 

It soon became apparent, however, that the audience was indulgent to thepoint of boredom, applauding with consistency each item, good or bad, and demanding thereto an encore. Esmeralda's entrance brought down thehouse, Pixie's Irish ditties evoked shouts of applause, and the partsongs but narrowly escaped being turned into choruses. It was, indeed, a village audience of the old-fashioned kind, assembled together inpleasant, friendly spirit, with the object of being amused, anddetermined that that object should be fulfilled. 

The squire was a favourite, as he well deserved to be, and his beautifulwife was regarded with a fervent admiration, which her very aloofnesshad served to heighten. Other ladies might call round at cottage doors, and talk intimately concerning book clubs, and Dorcas societies, but noone expected such condescension from Mrs Geoffrey Hilliard. Shewhizzed along in her great green car, or cantered past on her tall brownhorse, followed by a groom in livery, vouchsafing a gracious smile inreturn for bows and curtseys. On Sundays she sat ensconced in the greatsquare pew, a vision of stately beauty. ... The good dames of thevillage felt it the great privilege of this evening to see the squire'slady without her hat, with diamonds flashing at her throat, smiling, laughing, singing--a goddess descended from her pedestal to make merryon their behalf. 

And so at last in the midst of this simple happiness came the time forthe last item on the programme--that double tableau which every personin the hall was fated to remember, to the last day of his life!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

THE ACCIDENT. 

The curtain drew up on the first tableau. Joan sang appropriate wordsin the sweetest tones of her rich contralto voice, her eyes, like thoseof the audience, riveted on the face of the little invalid as he lay onhis truckle bed. White-cheeked, bandaged, reclining, the transformationin the child's appearance was astounding. Considered as a piece ofstage-craft, Joan had every reason to congratulate herself on theresult, but the mother's heart felt a pang of dismay. Therepresentation was too life-like! Just so would the darling look if theillness were real, not imaginary. In the afternoon he had not looked soghastly. Was the double excitement too much for his strength? Joan'seyes turned from the stage to the first row of seats, where her husbandhad his place. Geoffrey looked worried; his brows contracted as hewatched his son. Unconsciously Joan quickened the pace of the lastverse of her song. She was anxious to get to the second tableau, to seeJack sitting up, smiling, his eyes alert. 

The curtain fell. A low murmur from the audience swelled into somewhatforced applause. The villagers also, Joan realised, had felt the sceneto be almost too realistic. Behind the scenes Honor as nurse and Pixieas mother propped the child's back with cushions, and showered kisses onhis white cheeks. 

"Smile, Jackey, smile!" they cried. "Now you are a getting-well boy, and all the people will see you, and be so pleased! Just once more, darling, and then away we go, driving off home to supper in the car. Now a big smile!"

The curtain rose. Jack smiled his sweet, baby smile, and the audienceburst into cheers of hearty relief. Every one was smiling--not only theinvalid, but also the mother, the father, the neat, complacent nurse. Esmeralda's voice swelled in glad content. That last scene had beenhorrible; never, never again would she attempt to simulate so dreadful areality! What a comfort to see the darling once more bonnie andsmiling. Half an hour more and he would be safe in bed. 

The curtain fell, was lifted again in response to a storm of applause, the piano strummed out the first bars of "God Save the King, " and theaudience, stumbling to their feet, began to join in the strain. 

Suddenly, startlingly, a shriek rent the air, rising shrill above theheavy chorus of voices--the piercing, treble shrieks of a young child, followed by loud cries for help and a stampede of feet behind thecurtain. 

The music ceased. Geoffrey Hilliard and his wife rushed with one accordup the steps leading to the platform, the village doctor edged his wayhurriedly through the crowded hall, the real parish nurse, wearing forthe first time her new uniform, followed in his wake. And still thetreble shrieks continued--the terrible, childish shrieks. The women inthe audience shivered and turned pale. _Master Jack_! And only amoment before he had been playing at sickness. It was ill-work triflingwith serious things. The pretty lamb! What could have happened?

Behind the curtain all was horror and confusion, a ghastly nightmareexaggeration of the scene just depicted. There on the same bed layJack, writhing in torture, the bandages charred and blackened, aterrible smell of burning in the air. Bending over him in torment stoodthe real father and mother; coming forward with calm, capable help camethe veritable nurse. 

How had it happened? How? By what terrible lapse of care had theprecious child been allowed to fall into danger?

The mother's glance was fierce in its wrath and despair, but theexplanation when it came was but too simple. Jack had been bidden tosit still in bed until his clothes should be brought; from the adjoiningdressing-room. But for a moment Pixie had left his side, but in thatmoment a child-like impatience and restlessness had asserted itself withfatal consequences. Jack had leapt up, rushed to the table, clutched ata glass of milk placed ready for his own refreshment, and in so doinghad brought his bandaged head across the flame of an open candle, one ofthe small "properties" of the cottage scene. In an instant he was inflames; he threw up his little arm and the sleeve of the nightshirtcaught the blaze; he ran shrieking to and fro, dodging pursuit, fighting, struggling, refusing to be held. For a moment the beholdershad been too aghast for action; then Pixie leapt for the blankets, whileStanor overtook the child, tripped him up, wrapped and pressed andwrapped again; unfolded with trembling hands--

It was no one's fault. No one could be blamed. Jack was old enough tounderstand and obey, was proverbially docile and obedient. Under thesame circumstances at home he would have been left without a qualm. Theunusual circumstances had created an unusual restlessness not to beanticipated. Even at that bitter moment Joan realised that if it was aquestion of blame, she herself was at fault in having allowed the childto take part in the tableau against her husband's better judgment. Asmaller nature might have found relief in scattering blame wholesale, but there was a generosity in Irish Esmeralda's nature which lifted herabove the temptation. In the midst of her anguish she spared a momentto comfort Pixie by a breathless "Not your fault!" before she becameunconscious of everything but the moaning figure on the bed. 

The treatment of Jack's burns was completed with praiseworthyexpedition. The local chemist flew on winged feet to his shop in thevillage street, whence he brought back all that was required. Nurse anddoctor sent away the relatives, and worked with swift, tender fingers;and presently a swathed, motionless figure was carried out to animpromptu ambulance, fitted up inside the great car, while the lateaudience stood massed together in the street, looking on silent andmotionless--silent as to speech, but from every heart in that crowd wentup a cry to God, and every mother in the village knelt that night besideher bed and prayed with tears for the life of little Jack Hilliard, andfor the support and comfort of his father and mother. 

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Jack lay motionless in the darkened room, a tiny form outlined beneaththe bedclothes; on the pillow was a swathe of bandages, with barely aninch between to show the small, scarred face. The night before, withtossing curls, flushed cheeks, and curving coral lips, he had lain apicture of childish beauty, at sight of which his parents' hearts hadglowed with tenderness and pride as they paid their good-night visit. 

"He looks flushed. All this rehearsing is exciting. I shall be gladwhen the tableaux are over, " Geoffrey had said, and Joan had whisperedback ardently--

"But so _lovely_! If he looks like that to-morrow!"

And this was to-morrow; and there on the bed lay Jack, shorn, blinded, tortured--a marble image that moaned, and moaned... 

Through the night telephone and telegraph had been busy summoning themost skilful aid. Here at least was one blessing of wealth--that thequestion of expense need never be considered. This man for eyes, thatman for skin, a third for shock to the nerves; the cleverest nurses, thenewest appliances--the wonderful wires summoned them each in turn. Throughout the night motor-cars whirled up the drive, tall men in topcoats, nurses in cloaks and bonnets, dismantled and passed into thehouse, mysterious cases were hurried up back stairways. Joan and herhusband were banished from the sickroom, and sat in her boudoir awaitingthe verdict. It was the first time they had been alone together sincethe accident, and when the door closed behind them Joan glanced at herhusband with a quivering fear. His face was white and drawn. He lookedold, and bowed, and broken, but there was no anger in his face. 

"Geoffrey! Will you ever forgive me?"

For all answer he held out his arms. The old look of love was in hiseyes, the old beautiful softness; there was no bitterness in his look, no anger, not the faintest shadow of blame. 

"Dearest, don't! We both suffer. We must keep strong. We must helpeach other. "

"Geoff, you warned me. You said it would be bad. It was against yourwish ... It's my fault!"

"Darling, darling, don't make it worse!" He pressed her head againsthis shoulder with tender, soothing touches. "No one could haveforeseen. I feared for excitement only; there was no thought of danger. We have enough to bear, sweetheart. Don't torture yourselfneedlessly. "

"It's my doing, it's my punishment; I brought it about. I've been cold, and selfish, and ungrateful. I had so much I ought to have been sothankful, but I was discontented--I made you wretched. God gave me achance--" she pushed him away with frenzied hands and paced wildly, upand down the room--"a chance of salvation by happiness, and I was toomean, too poor to take it. Geoff, do you remember that poem ofStevenson's, `The Celestial Surgeon'? They have been rinking in my headall night, those last lines, those dreadful lines. I _was_ `obdurate. 'All the blessings which had been showered upon me left me dead; itneeded this `darting pain' to `_stab my dead heart wide awake_!'" Sherepeated the words with an emphasis, a wildness which brought anadditional furrow into Geoffrey's brow. 

He sighed heavily and sank down on a corner of the sofa. All night longbody and mind had been on the rack; he was chill, faint, wearied todeath. The prospect of another hysterical scene was almost more than hecould endure, yet through all his heart yearned over his wife, for herealised that, great as was his own sorrow, hers was still harder tobear. He might reason with her till doomsday, he might prove over andagain that for the night's catastrophe she was as free from blame ashimself, yet Esmeralda, being Esmeralda, would turn her back on reasonand persist in turning the knife in her own wound. Speech failed him;but the voiceless prayer of his heart found an answer, for no words thathe could have spoken could have appealed to his wife's heart as did hissilence and the helpless sorrow of his face. 

She came running to him, fell at his feet, and laid her beautiful headupon his knee. 

"Geoff, it's so hard, for I _was_ trying! In my own foolish way I wastrying to please, you. I may have been hasty, I may have been rash, butI _did_ mean to do right. --I did try! I've loved you all the time, Geoff, but I was spoiled. You were too good to me. My nature was notfine enough to stand it. I _presumed_ on your love. I imagined, vainfool! that nothing could kill it, and then you opened my eyes. _You_said yourself that I had worn you out. --It killed me, Geoff, to thinkyou had grown tired!"

"Joan, darling, let's forget all that. I've been at fault too; therewere faults on both sides, but we have _always_ loved each other; thelove was there just as surely as the sun is behind the clouds. And now... We _need_ our love... I--I'm worn out, dear. I can't go throughthis if you fail me. Bury the past, forget it. You are my wife, I amyour husband--we _need_ each other. Our little child!"

They clung together, weeping. In each mind was a great o'ershadowingdread, but the dread was not the same. The father asked of himself--Would the boy _die_? The mother--Would he live, blinded, maimed, crippled?

The door opened, a small face peered in and withdrew. Pixie had seenthe entwined arms, the heads pressed together, and realised that she wasnot needed. She crept away, and sat alone watching the slow dawn. 

The verdict of the specialists brought no lessening of the strain. Itwas too soon to judge; the shock was severe, and it was a question ofstrength holding out. Too soon to talk about the eyes. That must beleft. There were injuries, no doubt, but in the present condition ofinflammation and collapse it was only possible to wait. And to waitwas, to the distracted mother, the most unbearable torture she couldhave had to endure. 

The great house was quiet as the grave; the three guests had departed, little Geoff had been carried away by the vicar's wife to the refuge ofher own full, healthful nursery. The boy was shocked and silenced bythe thought of his brother's danger, but at five years of age acontinuance of grief is as little to be expected as desired, and nothingcould be left to chance. A cry beneath the window, a sudden, unexpectednoise might be sufficient to turn the frail balance. 

Pixie was alone, more helplessly, achingly alone than she had been inher life. The doors of the sickroom were closed against her. Joan hadno need of her. Joan wanted Geoffrey--Geoffrey, only--Geoffrey alone toherself. Even Bridgie's telegraphed offer had been refused. "Not now!No. Don't let her come--later on, " Esmeralda said, and turnedrestlessly away, impatient even of the slight interruption. 

If it had been an ordinary, middle-class house, wherein sudden illnessbrings so much strain and upset, Pixie would have expended herself inservice, and have found comfort in so doing, but in the great orderedhouse all moved like a well-oiled machine. Meals appeared on the tableat the ordinary hours, were carried away untouched, to be replaced byothers equally tempting, equally futile. Banks of flowers bloomed inthe empty rooms, servants flitted about their duties; there was no stir, no stress, no overwork, no need at all for a poor little sister-in-law;nothing for her to do but wander disconsolately from room to room, fromgarden to garden, to weep alone, and pour out her tender heart in apassion of love and prayer. 

"Christ, there are so many little boys in your heaven--leave us Jack!God, have pity on Esmeralda! She's his mother. ... _Her beloved son... Must he go_?"

The silent house felt like a prison. Pixie opened a side door and creptout into the garden. The sun was shining cloudlessly, the scent offlowers hung on the air, the birds sang blithely overhead; to asorrowful heart there seemed something almost brutal in thisindifference of Nature. How could the sun shine when a little innocenthuman soul lay suffering cruel torture in that upper room?

Pixie made her way to her favourite seat at the end of a long, straightpath, bordered on each side by square-cut hedges of yew. On the northside the great bush had grown to a height of eight or ten feet, with awidth almost as great; on the southern side the hedge was kept trimmedto a level of four feet, to allow a view of the sloping park. For twohundred yards the path lay straight as a die between those grand oldhedges; occasionally a peacock strutted proudly along its length, trailing its tail over the gravel, and then the final touch ofpicturesqueness was given to the scene, but even the approach of anordinary humdrum human had an effect of dignity, of importance, in suchold-world surroundings. It gratified Pixie's keen sense of what itdramatically termed "a situation" to place herself in this point ofvantage and act the part of audience; and to-day, though no one moreinteresting than a gardener was likely to appear, she yet madeinstinctively for the accustomed place. The sombre green of the yew wasmore in accord with her mood than the riot of blossom in the gardensbeyond, and she was out of sight of those terrible upper windows. Atany moment, as it seemed, a hand from within might stretch out to lowerthose blinds ... Could one live through the moment that saw them fall?

Pixie leaned back in her seat, and lived dreamily over the happenings ofthe last three days. The morning after the accident the three visitorshad made haste to pack, and depart in different directions--Honor andRobert Carr to town, Stanor Vaughan to friends at the other side of thecounty. Honor had relied on Robert's escort, but he had hurried off bythe nine o'clock train, excusing himself on the score of urgentbusiness, which fact added largely to the girl's depression. 

It was four, o'clock. All day long Pixie had been alone, unneeded, unobserved, for Joan refused to leave the nursery floor, even for meals, and Geoffrey remained by her side. Looking back over the whole courseof her life, the girl could not remember a time when she had been soutterly thrown on herself. Always there had been some one at hand tolove, to pity, to demand. At school, at the time of her father's death, there had been a bevy of dear girl friends--saintly Margaret, spectacledKate, Clara of the high forehead and long upper lip, Lottie, pretty andclever, each vieing with the other to minister to her needs. Pixiefollowed in thought the history of each old friend. Margaret had becomea missionary and had sailed for far-off China, Clara was mistress in aHigh School, Lottie lived in India, married to a soldier husband, Katewas domiciled as governess in Scotland. All were far away, allengrossed in new interests, new surroundings. 

Later on, in Pixie's own life, a lonely time had come when she had beensent to Paris, to finish her education in the home of the dear schoolMademoiselle. She had been lonely then, it is true--homesick, homeland-sick, so sick that she had even contemplated running away. Buthow good they had been to her;--Mademoiselle and her dear old father--how wise, how tactful, above all, how _kind_! Monsieur had died a fewyears before and gone to his last "repose, " and Mademoiselle--marvellousand incredible fact--Mademoiselle had married a grey-bearded, bald-headed personage whom her English visitor had mentally classed as acontemporary of "_mon pere_" and tottering on the verge of dotage. Itappeared, however, by after accounts, that he was barely fifty, whichDick Victor insisted was an age of comparative vigour. "Quite asuitable match!" he had pronounced it, but Pixie obstinately withheldher approval. Mademoiselle, as mademoiselle, would have been a regularvisitor for life; Madame, the wife of a husband exigent in disposition, and deeply distrustful of "_le mer_" must perforce stay dutifully athome in Paris, and was therefore lost to her English friends. 

Ah! The years--what changes they brought! What toll they demanded! Somany friends lost to sight, drifted afar by the stream of life. So manychanges, so _many_ breaks. _What would the years bring next_?

Pixie shut her eyes and leaned back in her seat, and being young, andsad, and faint, and hungry, and very, very tired, Mother Nature came toher aid, and laying gentle fingers on the closed lids sealed them insleep, her kindliest gift. 

Pixie slept, and round the corner of this straight green hedge fate camemarching towards her, with footsteps growing momentarily louder, andlouder upon the gravel path. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 

Stanor Vaughan stood with his hands thrust deep into his pockets lookingdown upon Pixie's pale, unconscious face. He had motored thirty milesto hear the latest news of the little patient--that was certainly _one_reason of his visit; but a second had undoubtedly been to see once morethe little patient's aunt! At the house he had been informed that MissO'Shaughnessy was in the garden, and had tracked her without difficultyto her favourite seat, and now there she lay, poor, sweet, tired littlesoul! With her head tilted back against the hedge, and the wee mites ofhands crossed upon her lap--an image of weariness and dejection. 

Stanor Vaughan felt within him the stirrings of tenderness and pity withwhich a strong man regards weakness in any form. Pixie was by naturesuch a jaunty little thing that it seemed doubly pathetic to see her soreduced. A fellow wanted to take her up in his arms, and comfort her, and make her smile again. A flush rose in Stanor's cheeks as herecalled an incident of the night of the accident. After the hurriedreturn to the house, the three guests had sat alone, waiting inmiserable suspense for the doctor's verdict, but Pixie had disappeared. No one knew where she had gone. Honor searched for her in vain, and atlast in an access of anxiety Stanor himself took up the quest. He foundher at last, perched on the wide window-seat of an upper window, but allhis persuasions could not move her from her post. 

"Let me stay here!" she persisted. "It comforts me. I can see--I cansee the _lights_!"

"You mean the motor lamps as they come up the drive?"

"No, " she said simply, "I mean the stars. "

Stanor was as unimaginative as most men of his age, and his firstimpression was that the poor little thing was off her head. He creptdownstairs and rang for a basin of the good warm soup with which he andhis companions had been provided an hour before. When it was brought hecarried the tray carefully up three long flights of stairs, and besoughtof Pixie to drink it forthwith. 

She shook her head, and all his persuasions could not rouse her to theexertion; but being an obstinate young man, he but set his lips anddetermined to succeed. 

This time, however, he resorted to force instead of persuasion, for, having placed the tray on a corner of the sill, he filled the spoon withsoup and held it determinedly to the girl's lips. Now, if she moved ormade a fuss, the soup would assuredly be spilled, and no living girlwould voluntarily pour soup over her frock! But Pixie made no fuss. Meekly, obediently as a little bird, she opened her lips, and swallowed, and swallowed again and again, until the bowl was emptied of itscontents. There was something so trustful and unconscious about theaction that the young man felt the smart of tears in his eyes--the firsttears he had known for many a long year. 

When the soup had been finished he went away again, and came back with awarm shawl which he had procured from a maid. In wrapping it round thequiescent figure his hands had accidentally come in contact with hers, and finding them cold as ice, it seemed the natural thing to chafe themgently between his own. Quite natural also Pixie appeared to find theaction, for the cold little fingers had tightened affectionately roundhis own. It was left to him to flush and feel embarrassed; Pixieremained placidly unmoved. 

The memory of those moments was vivid with Stanor as he stood thismorning looking down on the sleeping girl. All through the three daysof separation her image had pursued him, and he had longed increasinglyto see her again. The tragic incidents of that long night had had moreeffect in strengthening his dawning love than many weeks of placid, uneventful lives. It had brought them heart to heart, soul to soul; allthe little veneers and conventions of society had been thrust aside, andit seemed to him that the crisis had revealed her altogether sweet andtrue. 

When a young man is brought suddenly face to face with death, when it isdemonstrated before his eyes that the life of the youngest among ushangs upon a thread, he is in the mood to appreciate the higherqualities. Stanor had told himself uneasily that he had been "tooslack, " that he had not thought enough about "these things. " Thefriends with whom he had consorted were mostly careless pleasure-loverslike himself, but this little girl was made of a finer clay. To livewith her would be an inspiration: she would "pull a fellow together. "... There was, however, to be quite honest, another and less worthyimpetus which urged Stanor forward, but over this he preferred to draw amental veil. We are all guilty of the absurdity of posing for our ownbenefit, and Stanor, like the rest, preferred to believe himselfactuated wholly by lofty motives rather than partially by the woundedpride of a young man who has just discovered that he has been "managed"by an elder!

He sat down on the seat beside Pixie, and laid his hand gently overhers. They opened automatically to receive it; even before she liftedher lids he felt the welcoming touch; and felt it characteristic of hernature. 

"_You_!" she cried gladly, "Mr Vaughan, 'tis you! Oh, that's nice!Was I sleeping, that I didn't see you come? I thought I should neversleep again. Jack can't sleep! If he slept he might get well. "

"He is sleeping now, " said Stanor quietly. "A man was sent to the lodgeto answer all inquiries, so that there should not be even a crunch onthe path. He is sleeping soundly and well. If he sleeps on--"

Pixie nodded, her face aglow. 

"Oh, thank God! _How_ I thank Him! Sleep will make all the difference.... Till now it's been nothing but a moment's nap and awake again, witha scream. We've _agonised_ for sleep! I could not have gone off sosoundly if I hadn't known, _inside_, that Jack was asleep too. When youlove anyone very, very much, what touches them touches you. You can'tkeep apart. You mayn't always know it with your _mind_, but the bestpart of you, the part that feels, _it_ knows!"

She smiled in his face with frank, glad eyes, but Stanor flushed andlooked at the ground. 

"Should you know it, if _I_ were unhappy, Pixie? I should know it aboutyou. I came this afternoon partly, mostly, because I knew how you'd befeeling, and I thought, I hoped, that I might help. Does it help you, Pixie, to have me sitting beside you, instead of being alone? Ought Ito have come, or stayed away?"

"I'm glad you came; I love to have you. I've been sad before this, butI've never been sad by myself! Esmeralda isn't my sister at thismoment, she's just Jack's mother, and there's only one person who canhelp her, and that is Jack's father. Later on 'twill change!" A flashof joy lit up the white face. "Do you know what I'm waiting for? IfJack lives, as soon as he's conscious and out of pain he'll send for me!He'll want me to tell him stories, and the stronger he grows the morestories he'll want! He'll need me then--they'll all need me!"

"Of course they'll need you. Other people need you, Pixie, besides yourrelations. Why do you always go back to them? I was speaking ofmyself. _I_ need you! I've felt all at sea without you these lastdays. I never met a girl like you before. Most girls are all one wayor another--so serious that they're dull, or so empty-headed that it's awaste of time to talk to them. You--you are such a festive littlething, Pixie; a fellow could never be dull in your company, and yetyou're so good! You have such sweet thoughts; you are so unselfish, sokind. "

"_Go_ on!" cried Pixie urgently. "_Go_ on!" Her cheeks had flushed, her eyes sparkled with animation. "It's the most reviving thing in theworld to hear oneself praised, I could listen to it for hours. In whatparticular way, now, would you say that I was `_sweet_?'"

She peered at him, complacent, curious, blightingly unconscious of hisemotions, and the young man felt a stirring of hot impatience. Insinuation and innuendo were of no use where Pixie O'Shaughnessy wasconcerned; an ordinary girl might scent a proposal afar off and amuseherself by an affectation of innocence, but nothing short of a plaindeclaration of love would convince Pixie of his sincerity. 

"Pixie, " he said suddenly, "look at me!" He took her hands in his, anddrew her round so as to face him as they sat. "Look at me, Pixie, " herepeated. "Look in my eyes. Tell me, what do you see?"

Pixie looked, her own eyes wide and amazed. Her fingers stirred withinhis hands with a single nervous twitch, and then lay still, while intoher eyes crept an expression of wonder and awe. 

"I don't know. --I don't know. ... What do I see?"

"Love, Pixie! My love. My love for you. ... I've fallen in love withyou, darling; didn't you know? I knew it that last evening when we weretogether upstairs. I've known it better and better each day since; andto-day I couldn't stay away, I couldn't wait any longer. ... Pixie, doyou love me too?"

"Of course I love you. How could I help it?" cried Pixie warmly. Herfingers tightened round his with affectionate pressure, her eyes beamedencouragingly upon him. 

Never could there have been a warmer, a more spontaneous response, andyet, strange to relate, its very ardour had a chilling effect, forStanor, though young, was experienced enough to realise that it is notin this fashion that a girl receives a declaration of love from the manof her heart. He himself had struggled with shyness and agitation; hewas conscious of flushed cheeks, of a hoarseness of voice, of thebeating of pulses; then surely a girl taken by surprise, faced suddenly, with the question of such enormous import, should not be less moved thanhe. 

The words died upon his lips; involuntarily his hands relaxed theirgrasp. There was a moment of impossible impasse and strain before, witha realised effort, he forced himself to express a due delight. 

"That makes me very happy, Pixie. I--I was afraid you might not care. I'm not half good enough for you, I know that, but I'll do my best. I'll do everything I can to make you happy. I'm not rich, you know, darling; we should have to live on what I can make independently of theuncle, for he has peculiar views. He doesn't wish me to marry. "

"_Marry_!" repeated Pixie deeply. She sat bolt upright in her seat, hereyes suddenly alight with interest and excitement. Incredible as itmight appear, Stanor realised that this was the first moment when theidea of marriage had entered her brain. "Is it _marrying_ you aretalking about? You want _me_ to marry you?"

"You funny little soul. Of course I want it. Why else should I talkabout loving?"

"I thought, " she said sighing, "it was just nice feeling! It's naturalfor people to love each other. When they live together in the samehouse and come through trouble. ... And we're both attractive. ... Youdon't need to marry every one you love!"

"I do, " declared Stanor, "when it's a girl--when it's _you_! I want tohave you for my own, and keep you to myself, and how can I do that ifyou're not my wife? If you love me, you must want to be with me too. Don't you, dear, don't you wish it? Shouldn't you like to be my wife?"

Pixie tilted her head in her well-known attitude of consideration. 

"I--I think I should!" she pronounced judicially. "I liked you from themoment we met, and you've a good disposition. Dispositions areimportant in marriage. And I'm domestic; you like domestic girls, andit's convenient when you're poor. ... On how much a head would youexpect me to keep house?"

But that was too much for Stanor's endurance; he seized her in hisstrong arms and shook her with a tender violence. 

"Pixie, you little witch, don't be so blightingly matter-of-fact! I'mmaking you a declaration of love. Kindly receive it in a suitablefashion. ... A--a fellow expects a girl to be a little--er--sentimentaland poetic, and--er--overcome, don't you know, not to begin at once totalk of _how much a head_!"

"I've never been proposed to before. You must excuse me if I makemistakes. I'm quite willing to be sentimental; I dote upon sentiment, "declared Pixie in anxious propitiation. ... "Let's go back to where youwere talking about me! Tell me _exactly_ what it is that you mostadmire?"

Stanor had been hoping for a little adulation for himself, but hegallantly stifled his feelings and proceeded to offer the incense whichhe believed would be most acceptable. 

"Your character, darling. Your sweet and tender heart!"

"How nice, " said Pixie flatly. She sat silent for a moment and thenventured tentatively, "_Not_ my personal charm?"

"_And_ your personal charm. Both! You've more personal charm than anygirl I know. "

This was something like! Pixie beamed content. At this moment she feltreally "engaged, " and agreed rapturously with all the encomiums whichshe had heard given to this happy condition. Success emboldened her tofurther flights. 

"The first time you met me you didn't admire me then! My _appearance_, I mean! You remember you said--"

"I did. Yes! But you were so sweet in forgiving me that I admired youinstantly for _that_!" cried Stanor, skilfully turning the subject tosafer ground. "And when you're my wife, Pixie, you will seem the mostbeautiful woman in the world in my eyes. It is very unworldly of you toconsent without asking more about my affairs, for I am a poor match foryou, little one. It takes years for a man to make a decent income inbusiness, and I have so little experience. My uncle has always promisedto buy me a partnership in some good firm, but of course there wouldhave to be some preliminary training. And if he did not ... Approve... "

"But he _must_ approve; we must make him. We couldn't marry without hisconsent. He's been so good to you!"

"He has, uncommonly good; but when it comes to marrying, it's a fellow'sown affair. I shall go my own way... "

"He's lame!"

"Dear little girl, what has that to do with the case in point?"

"Well, I think it has!" persisted Pixie obstinately. "It has to me. Wemust be nice to him, Stanor, and _make_ him be pleased, whether he wantsto or not. ... Did you notice how naturally I called you `Stanor'?"

"I did! Couldn't you manage to put something before it by way, ofcompletion?"

"Nice Stanor! Handsome Stanor! Clever, sensible, discriminatingStanor!"

"Quite so, " said the discriminating one dryly, "but I should haveliked--" Suddenly he burst into a ringing boyish laugh. "This is the_rummiest_ proposal that was ever made!"

Pixie looked anxious. 

"Is it? `Rum'? What exactly does `rum' mean, applied to a proposal?It didn't sound approving. It's my very own proposal, and I won't haveit abused. I've enjoyed it very much. ... I think we shall be veryhappy, Stanor, when we are married and settled down in our own littlehouse. "

Stanor looked at her keenly, and as he looked he sighed. 

"Dear little Pixie, " he said gently, "I hope we shall!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

ESMERALDA IS TROUBLED. 

"Engaged!" cried Esmeralda shrilly. "Engaged! You! To Stanor Vaughan?Pixie O'Shaughnessy, I never heard such nonsense in my life. "

"Then you've listened to an uncommon amount of sense. I should not havethought it, to judge from your actions, " returned Pixie, nettled, "'Twould be interesting to hear what strikes you as so ridiculous aboutit!"

It was three days after Stanor's unexpected visit with its momentousconsequences, but in consideration of the anxiety of Jack's parents, thenews had been withheld until the boy had been pronounced out of danger. Only this morning had the glad verdict been vouchsafed. Jack wouldlive; given a steady, even improvement, with no unforeseencomplications, he would live, and in a few weeks time be up and aboutonce more. The eye trouble would be more lasting, for the child was ofa peculiarly sensitive nature, and the shock seemed inclined to localiseitself in the eyes. The sight itself would be saved, but for some yearsto come it would need the most careful tending. He must wear darkenedspectacles; be forbidden to read; be constantly under skilled care. Given such precautions the sight would probably become normal in lateryears... 

When the first verdict was given, the father, and mother clung to oneanother in an ecstasy of relief and thankfulness. Throughout those lastterrible days, when every conscious breath had carried with it a prayer, Joan had looked deep into her own soul and beheld with opened eyes theprecipice on which she stood. How far, how far she had travelled sincethose early married days, when, with her first-born in her arms, herhighest ambition had been that she should be enabled so to train himthat he should grow up, to be, in the words of the beautiful old phrase, "A soldier of Christ!" Of late years she had had many ambitions for herboys, but they had been ambitions of the world, worldly. The old faithhad been gradually neglected and allowed to sink into the background oflife. In her own strength she had walked, in her own weakness she hadfailed. Yet now, in default of punishment, goodness and mercy were oncemore to be her portion! All the nobility in Joan's nature rose up asshe pledged herself afresh to a new--a higher life! Jack would live, their boy would live--that was for days the one thought of which theparents were conscious. For the father it was perfect joy, but for themother there still remained a pang. Only Esmeralda herself ever knewthe anguish of grief which she endured on account of her baby's alteredlooks. Little Jack, with his angel face, his halo of curls, hisexquisite, innocent eyes, had been a joy to behold. Waking, sleeping, merry, sad--at one and every moment, of his life the mere sight of himhad been as an open sesame to the hearts of those who beheld. The knifeturned in his mother's heart at the thought of _Jack_ shorn, scarred, spectacled. She dared not confide her grief to her husband. He wouldnot understand. _Looks_! What could looks matter, when the child hadbeen delivered from death? Joan could see in imagination the expressionon his face, hear the shocked tones of his voice; she would not betrayher feelings and risk a break of the new, sweet understanding betweenthem. All men were alike. There were occasions when only another womancould understand. 

Joan went upstairs to the empty nursery and found Marie weeping in herchair. 

"_Petite lapin! Petite cherie! Petite ange_! Comfort thyself, Madame, " she sobbed, "we can have glasses like the young American--shewho visited Madame last year. No rims hardly to be observed! And thehair--that will grow--of a surety it will grow. A little long upon theforehead, and _voila_! The scar is hid. ... A little care, Madame, alittle patience, and he will be once more our _petit amour_!"

"Marie, " said her mistress firmly, "looks are a secondary affair. Weought to be too thankful to _think_ of looks!"

"_C'est vrai_, Madame, " replied Marie demurely, "_C'est vrai_, " and JoanHilliard went back to her room with a lightened heart, and determined towrite at once to town to ask particulars concerning rimless spectacles. 

And now here was Pixie, with this preposterous, ridiculous tale! Atsight of her young sister Joan had felt a pang of contrition. She hadforgotten all about her these last terrible days. Poor girl! She musthave been terribly lonely, but that was the best of Pixie--she wasalways ready to forgive and forget. Joan kissed her warmly, murmuredapologies, and inquired affectionately how the long days had beenpassed. And then--out it came!

"Why ridiculous?" echoed Joan. "My dear, how could it be anything else?Five days ago, when we were all together, there wasn't a sign of such athing. Stanor was attracted by you, of course; but he was not in love. He was always cheerful, always merry. How different from poor Robert, who is eating his heart out for Honor Ward!"

"I hope, " said Pixie deeply, "that Stanor will always _keep_ cheerful. It won't be my fault if he does not. No man shall `eat his heart out'for me if I can help it!"

Joan glanced at her quickly. She had caught the tone of pain in thebeautiful voice, and softened to it with instant response. 

"Yes, dear, of course. You'd never flirt, you're too honest, but, allthe same, Pixie, I stick to my opinion. I don't believe for a momentthat Stanor Vaughan is in love with you, and I'm positively sure that_you_ are not in love with him!"

"Can you look into my heart, Esmeralda, and see what is there?"

"Yes, I can. In this instance I can. Fifty times better than you canyourself. You are pleased, you are flattered, you are interested. Youwere miserable and lonely, (that's my fault, for leaving you alone. Idon't know what Bridgie will say to me!) and Stanor was sorry for you, you appealed to his chivalry, and you were just in the mood to be sweptoff your feet, without realising what it all meant. Pixie, when youtold me just now, you were quite calm, you never even blushed!"

"I don't think, " reflected Pixie thoughtfully, "I ever blushed in mylife. "

It occurred to her uncomfortably that Stanor also had noticed theomission, and had felt himself defrauded thereby. She wondered uneasilyif one could _learn_ to blush!

As for Esmeralda, the words carried her back in a rush to the dear daysof childhood, when the little sister had been the pet and pride of thefamily. Indeed, and Pixie had had no need to blush! Her very failingshad been twisted round to pose as so many assets in her favour, whileher own happy self-confidence had instilled the belief that every onewanted her, every one appreciated. What cause had Pixie O'Shaughnessyto blush?

"Mavourneen!" cried Esmeralda tenderly, "I know. Thank God you've neverneeded to blush or feel afraid, but, Pixie, when love comes, it'sdifferent, everything is different! It's a new birth. The oldconfidence goes, for it's a new life that lies ahead, and one standstrembling on the brink. ... If what you feel is the right thing, you'llunderstand. Pixie, dear, do I seem the wrong person to talk like this?You know how it has been with us. We drifted apart--Geoff and I--so farapart that I thought ... I can't talk of it--you know what I thought--but, Pixie think! If the feeling between us had not been the _real_thing, if we had married on affection only, where should we have beennow? Geoffrey loved me so much that he bore with me, through all theseyears of strain, and when this great trouble came, he forgave me atonce, forgave everything, blotted it right out, and thought of nothingbut how to help me most. A cloud had rolled up between us, but it was_only_ a cloud, the love was there all the time, hidden, like the sun, ready to shine out again. ... Oh, Pixie, dear, the right thing is sowonderful, so grand, that I can't let you miss it for the sake of amistake. You are so young. You don't understand. Let me write toStanor to-night and tell him it's a mistake, that you didn't know yourown mind!"

"You may talk till doomsday, Esmeralda, " said Pixie quietly, "but Ishall keep my word!"

Mentally Pixie had been deeply impressed by the other's confidences, andnot a little perturbed thereby, but it was against her sense of loyaltyto allow such feelings to appear. To her own heart she confessed thatshe was altogether without this strange sense of elation, thismysterious new birth which Esmeralda considered all important under thecircumstances. She was certainly happy, for with Stanor's coming thecloud which had hovered over the house had begun to disperse. She hadopened her own eyes to the good news of Jack's first sleep, and each daythe improvement had continued, while Stanor motored over, to sit by herside, cheering her, saying loving, gentle things, building castles inthe air of a life together. ... Yes, she was _very_ happy, but ... Shehad been happy before, there was nothing astoundingly, incredibly _new_in her sensations. 

Pixie sent her thoughts back into the past, endeavouring to recallrecollections of Joan's engagement, of Bridgie's, of Jack's. Yes, certainly they had all become exceedingly different under the newconditions. She recalled in especial Bridgie's face beneath her bridalveil. Child as she herself had been at that time she had been arrestedby that expression: nor had she been allowed to forget it, for from timeto time during the last six years she had seen it again. "The _shiny_look!" she had christened it in her thoughts. Sweet and loving wereBridgie's eyes for every soul that breathed, but that one particularlook shone for one person alone! Pixie's heart contracted in a pang oflonging; it was almost like the pang she had felt in the drawing-room ofHolly House on that dread afternoon when the news of her father's deathhad been broken to her--a pang of longing, a sore, sore feeling ofsomething wanting. She shivered, then drew herself together withindignant remembrance. She was _engaged_! What sentiments were thesefor an engaged girl? How could she feel a blank when still more lovewas added to her share?

"If you talk till doomsday, Esmeralda, I'll keep my word. Stanor lovesme and says I can help him. I said I would, and, me dear, _I will_!We've been through a lot of trouble this last week, isn't it a pity totry to make more for no good? My mind's made up!"

Joan Hilliard was silent. In her heart of hearts she realised thatthere was nothing more to say. Pixie was Pixie. As well try to move amountain from its place, as persuade that sweet, loving, most loyal ofcreatures to draw back from a solemn pledge. Something might be donewith Stanor perhaps, or, failing Stanor, through that erratic person, his uncle. She must consult with Geoffrey and Bridgie, together theymight insist upon a period of waiting and separation before a definiteengagement was announced. Pixie was still under age. Until hertwenty-first birthday her guardians might safely demand a delay. Joanknew that Stanor Vaughan had had passing fancies before now, and hadlittle belief that the present entanglement would prove more lasting. Circumstances had induced a special intimacy with Pixie, but when theywere separated he would repent. --If he himself set Pixie free! ... Sofar did Joan's thoughts carry her, then, looking at the girl's happyface, she felt a sharp pang of contrition. 

"Me dear, I want you to be happy! If it makes you happy to marryStanor, I'll give you my blessing, and the finest trousseau that moneycan buy. You're young yet, and he has his way to make. You'll have towait patiently, for a few years, until he can make a home, but it's ahappy time, being engaged. I feel defrauded myself to have had solittle of it. Storing up things in a bottom drawer, and picking up oldfurniture at sales, and polishing it up so lovingly, thinking of whereit is going, and letters coming and going, and looking forward to thetime when he'll come down next--'tis a beautiful time. Three or fouryears ought to pass like a trice!"

"Besides leaving plenty of time to change your mind. I know you, medear!" cried Pixie shrewdly. "I see through you! You'll be relieved tohear that the date has not been mentioned, but you can start with thetrousseau as soon as you please. I'll take it in quarterly instalments, and spin out the pleasure, besides sparing my friends the shock ofseeing me suddenly turn grand. My affianced suitor is coming to proffera formal demand for my hand. Will ye be kind to him now, and give himsome tea?"

"I will, " said Joan readily. To herself she added: "We are all alike, we O'Shaughnessys, we will be led, but we will _not_ be driven. It's nouse appearing to object! Things must just take their course... "

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

THE "RUNKLE" INTERVENES. 

As little Jack continued to progress towards convalescence, theattention of the household became increasingly absorbed by theastounding fact of Pixie's projected engagement. Bridgie, detained athome by malapropos ailments on the part of the children, wrote urgentletters by daily posts, contradicting herself on every point saving onealone--the advisability of delay. Geoffrey Hilliard as host, DickVictor as guardian, Jack, Pat, and Miles as brothers, proposed, seconded, and carried by acclamation the same waiting policy. And noone who has the faintest knowledge of human nature will need to be toldthat such an attitude had the effect of rousing the youthful lovers tothe liveliest impatience. 

Stanor in particular was moved to rebellion. His pride was hurt by solukewarm a reception of his addresses, which was all the moredisagreeable for being unexpected. The Hilliards had shown so muchfriendship and hospitality to him as a friend, that he had taken forgranted that they would welcome him in a closer relationship. He wasnot a great _parti_ it was true, but then by her own confession Pixiehad no fortune of her own, and had been accustomed to modest means. Stanor did not say to himself in so many words that he happened topossess an exceptionally handsome and popular personality, he refusedeven to frame a definite thought to that effect; nevertheless theconsciousness was there, and added to his chagrin. 

Lounging along the country lanes, his hands thrust deep into hispockets, Stanor told himself that it was a disappointing old world: afellow always imagined that when he got engaged he would have the timeof his life; in books a fellow was represented as walking upon air, in acondition of rapture too intense for belief--it was disappointing tofind his own experience fall so short of the ideal!

Sweet little Pixie, of course, was a beguiling creature. Stanor wouldnot admit any shortcomings in his _fiancee_, but he did allow himself towonder tentatively if he had spoken too soon: if she were not, perhaps, a trifle young to understand the meaning of the new claim. The dailyinterviews which he had been vouchsafed had been full of interest andcharm, but they had not succeeded in stifling the doubt which had marredthe first minutes of acceptance, for alas! it was when Pixie was themost affectionate that her lover was most acutely conscious of thesubtle want. And then, as if there was not already enough worry andtrouble, there was the Runkle. ... The Runkle would be bound to put inhis oar!

Stanor had delayed sending word of his engagement to the man who stoodto him in the place of a father, silencing his conscience by theassertion that there was yet nothing to announce. Until Pixie'sguardians came down from their present unnatural position, there mightbe an understanding, but there could not be said to be a formalengagement. 

It was Pixie herself who finally forced him to dispatch the news. Itwas Stanor's first experience of arguing a point with a woman, and amost confusing experience he found it. Pixie invariably agreed withevery separate argument as he advanced it, saw eye to eye with him oneach separate point, sympathised warmly with his scruples, and then atthe very moment when she was expected to say "yes" to the finaldecision, said "no, " and stuck to it with conviction. Questioned as tothe reason of such inconsistency, she had only one excuse to plead, andshe pled it so often and with such insistence that it seemed easier togive in than to continue the argument. "Yes, but he's lame!" came backautomatically as the answer to every remonstrance, till Stanor shruggedhis shoulders and sat down to write his letter. 

Pixie _was_ indeed, as the family had it, "the soft-heartedestcreature!" He loved her for it, but none the less depression seized himanew. Now there would be the Runkle to tackle! More arguments! Moreobjections! A fellow ought to be jolly happy when he was married, tomake up for all the fuss and agitation which went before... 

Stanor's letter of announcement was short and to the point, for he wasnot in the mood to lapse into sentiment. By return of post came theRunkle's reply, short also, and non-committal--nothing more, in fact, than the announcement that he preferred to discuss the matter in person, and would the following day arrive at a certain hotel, where he bade hisnephew meet him. Stanor therefore made his excuses to his hostess, packed his bag, and dispatched a letter of explanation to his _fiancee_, unconscious of the fact that she was at that very hour receivinginformation first hand. 

It came about in the most natural, and simple fashion. As Pixie, roaming the grounds bareheaded to gather a bouquet of wild flowers topresent to the little invalid, emerged suddenly upon the drive, shefound a tall, grey-coated stranger leaning against a tree in an attitudeexpressive of collapse. He was very tall, and very thin; the frameworkof his shoulders was high and broad, but from them the coat seemed toflap around a mere skeleton of a frame. His hair was dark, hiscomplexion pale, and leaning back with closed eyes he looked soalarmingly ill and spent, that, dropping the flowers to the ground, Pixie leaped forward to the rescue. 

"You're ill. ... Let me help! There's a seat close by. ... Lean onme!"

The stranger opened his eyes, and Pixie started as most people _did_start when they first looked into Stephen Glynn's eyes, which were ofthat deep, intense blue which is romantically dubbed purple and fringedwith dark lashes, which added still further to their depth. They weresad eyes, tired eyes, eyes of an exceeding and pitiful beauty, eloquentof suffering and repression. They looked out under dark, level brows, and with their intense earnestness of expression flooded the thin facewith life. As she met their gaze Pixie drew a quick, gasping breath ofsurprise. 

The stranger in his turn looked surprised and startled; he bent his headin involuntary salute, and glanced down at the tiny arm offered for hissupport. Six foot two he stood in his stockinged feet, and there wasthis scrap of a girl offering her little doll-like arm for support! Hislips twitched, and Pixie pounced on the meaning with her usual agility. 

"But I'm wiry, " she announced proudly. "You wouldn't believe mystrength till you try it. Just for a few yards. ... Round the cornerby the oak-tree. _Please_!"

"You are too kind. I am not ill, but the walk from the station is verysteep and I found it tiring, that's all. I shall be glad to rest for amoment, but I assure you no help is needed. "

He took a step forward as he spoke, a quick, halting step, and Pixielooking on, exclaimed sharply--

"_The Runkle_! Stanor's Runkle! It is _You_!"

The stranger looked down sharply, his dark brows puckering inastonishment. 

"I am Stephen Glynn--`The Runkle, ' as my nephew is pleased to call me. But you--you cannot be--"

Pixie nodded vehemently. 

"I _am_!--Pixie O'Shaughnessy. Going to be your niece. I made Stanorwrite to tell you. --"

They seated themselves on the bench under the oak-tree, and turning, faced each other in a long, curious silence, during which each faceassumed a puzzled expression. 

"But you are younger than I expected!" cried Pixie. 

"That is exactly what I was on the point of saying to _you_, " returnedMr Glynn. 

"And yet we know exactly how old we both are--twenty and thirty-five!"Pixie continued volubly. "But you know how it is with young men--theyhave no patience to explain! You'd be amused if you could see the imageI'd made of you in my own mind. I expect 'twas the same with yourself?"

"It was, " agreed Mr Glynn, and for a moment imagined that hisdisappointment was his own secret--only for a moment, however, thenPixie tilted her head at him with a sideways nod of comprehension. 

"Knowing, of course, that I was a sister of the beautiful Mrs Hilliard!No wonder you are disappointed!" The eyes smiled sympathy at him, andthe wide lips parted in the friendliest of smiles. "You'll like mebetter when you know me!"

"I--I am quite sure, " stammered Mr Glynn, and then drew himself upsuddenly, as if doubtful if agreement were altogether polite under thecircumstances. Once more his lips twitched, and as their eyes met heand Pixie collapsed together into an irresistible laugh. He laughedwell, a rare and charming accomplishment, and Pixie regarded him withbenign approval. 

"Quite romantic, isn't it? The noble kinsman journeying in state todemand the hand of the charming maid, falls ill of the perils of theway, and encounters a simple cottage maid gathering flowers, whosuccours the stranger in distress. Their identity is then revealed. ... I _do_ love romances!" cried Pixie gushingly. "And it's much nicerhaving an interview out here than in a stuffy room ... Please, MrKinsman--begin!"

He frowned, bit at his under lip, and moved restlessly on the seat, glancing once and again at the girl's bright, unclouded face. 

"I'm afraid, " he began slowly, "that the matter is not altogether assimple as you suppose. Stanor is not in a position to marry without myconsent. I think he has not sufficiently appreciated this fact. If hehad consulted me in the first instance I should have endeavoured toprevent--"

She turned her eyes upon him like a frightened child. There was notrace of anger, nor wounded pride--those he could have faced with ease--but the simple shock of the young face smote on his heart. 

"I had not seen you, remember!" he cried quickly. "My decision had nopersonal element. I object at this stage to Stanor becoming engagedto--anybody. He has, no doubt, explained to you our relationship. Hisparents being dead, I made myself responsible for his training. He mayhave explained to you also my wish that for a few years he should befree to enjoy his youth without any sense of responsibility?"

Pixie nodded gravely. 

"He has. I understood. You had missed those years yourself, and knewthey could never come back, so you gave them to him as a gift--young, happy years without a care, that he could treasure up in his mind andremember all his life. 'Twas a big gift! Stanor, and I are grateful toyou--"

Stephen Glynn looked at her: a long, thoughtful glance. The programmewhich he had mapped out for his nephew had been unusual enough toattract much notice. He had been alternately annoyed and amused by thecriticism of his neighbours, all of whom seemed incapable ofunderstanding his real motives. It seemed a strange thing that itshould be reserved for this slip of a girl to see into his inmost heart. He was touched and impressed, but that "Stanor and I" hardened him tohis task. 

"Thank you. You _do_ understand. At the moment Stanor may perhaps beinclined to question the wisdom of my programme, but I think in afteryears he will, as you say, look back. The fact remains, however, thathe has not yet tackled the real business of life. He has had, with myconcurrence, plenty of change and variety, which I believe in the endwill prove of service in his life's work, and he has stood the test. Many young fellows of his age would have abused their opportunities. Hehas not done so. My only disappointment has been that he has developedno definite taste, but has been content to flit from one fancy to thenext, always carried away by the latest novelty on the horizon. "

Once again she tilted her head and scanned him with her wide, cleareyes. 

"You mean _Me_?" she said quickly. "I'm the `Latest Novelty!' You meanthat he'll change about me, too? Isn't that what you mean?"

"My dear--Miss O'Shaughnessy, " (incredible though it appeared, Stephenhad been on the verge of saying "Pixie, " pure and simple) "you leap toohastily to conclusions. I am afraid I must appear an odious person!Believe me, I had no intention of rushing into the very heart of thismatter as we have done. My plan was to call upon your sister andexplain to her my position--"

"'Tis not my sister's business, 'tis mine, " interrupted Pixie firmly. "And it would be a waste of time talking to her, for she'd agree withevery word you said. They don't _want_ me to be engaged. They thinkI'm too young. If you have anything to say, say it to _Me_. _I'm_ theperson to be convinced. "

She settled herself more comfortably as she spoke, turning towards himwith one arm resting on the back of the bench, and her head leaningagainst the upturned hand. The sun shone on her face through theflickering branches. No, she was not pretty; not in the least the sortof girl Stanor was accustomed to fancy. Yet there was somethingextraordinarily attractive about the little face, with its clear eyes, its wide, generous mouth, its vivacity of expression. Already, after abare ten minutes' acquaintance, Stephen Glynn so shrank from theprospect of hurting Pixie O'Shaughnessy that it required an effort tokeep an unflinching front. 

"I agree with your people, " he said resolutely, "that you and Stanor aretoo young, and that this matter has been settled too hastily. Apartfrom that, I should object to any engagement until he has proved hisability to work for a wife. I have a position in view for him in alarge mercantile house in New York. After a couple of years' experiencethere he would come back to the London house, and, if his work justifiedit, I am prepared to buy him a partnership in the firm. He would thenbe his own master, free to do as he chose, but for these two years hemust be free, with no other responsibility than this work. "

"You think, " queried Pixie slowly, "that I should interfere ... That hewould do his work better without me?"

"It's not a question of thinking, Miss O'Shaughnessy. I am not contentto think. I want to make _sure_ that Stanor will settle seriously towork and keep in the same mind. He is a good fellow, a dear fellow, but, hitherto at least, he has not been stable. "

"He has never been engaged before?"

"Not actually. I have been forewarned in time to prevent mattersreaching that length. Twice over--"

A small hand waved imperiously for silence. 

"I don't _think_, " said Pixie sternly, "that you have any right to tellme things like that. If Stanor wants me to know, he can tell mehimself. It's his affair. I am not at all curious. " She drew afluttering breath, and stared down at the ground, and a silence followedduring which Stephen was denouncing himself as a hard-hearted tyrant, when suddenly a minute voice spoke in his ear--

"Were they--_pretty_?"

It was impossible to resist the smile which twitched at his lips. Unpleasant as was the nature of his errand, he, the most unsmiling ofmen, had already twice over been moved to merriment. Stephen wasreflecting on the incongruity of the fact, when Pixie again answered hisunspoken retort. 

"It's not curiosity, it's interest. _Quite_ a different thing! Andeven if they _were_, it's much more serious when a man cares for a girlfor her--er--mental attractions, because they go on getting better, instead of fading away like a pretty face. It's very difficult to knowwhat is right. ... I've promised Stanor, and he has promised me, and itseems a poor way of showing that you know your own mind, to break yourword at the beginning!"

"I don't ask you to break your word, Miss O'Shaughnessy; only to hold itin abeyance. I am speaking in Stanor's interests, which we have equallyat heart. I know his character--forgive me!--better than you can do, and I am asking you to help me in arranging a probation which I _know_to be wise under the circumstances. Let him go to New York a free man;let him work and show his mettle, and at the end of two years, if youare both of the same mind, I will give you every help in my power: butmeantime there must be no engagement, no _tie_, no regularcorrespondence. You must both be perfectly free. I am sorry to appearhard-hearted, but these are my conditions, and I can't see my way toalter them. "

"Well--why not?" cried Pixie unexpectedly. "What's two years? They'llpass in no time. And men hate writing. Stanor will be relieved not tohave to bother about the mails. He can do without letters. He willknow that I am waiting. " She held out her hand with a sudden, radiantsmile. "And _you_ will be pleased! It is the least we can do toconsider your wishes. If I persuade Stanor--if I send him away alone towork, " the small fingers tightened ingratiatingly over his, "you _will_like me, won't you? You will think of me as a real niece?"

Stephen Glynn's deep blue eyes stared deeply into hers. He did notdeliberately intend to put his thoughts into speech; if he had givenhimself a moment to think he would certainly not have done so, but sostrong was the mental conviction that the words seemed to formthemselves without his volition. 

"You don't love him! You could not face a separation so easily if youloved him as you should... "

For the first time a flash of real anger showed itself on Pixie's face. Her features hardened; the child disappeared and he caught a glimpse ofthe woman that was to be. 

"What right have you to say that?" she asked deeply. "You prove to methat it would be for Stanor's good to wait, and then say I cannot lovehim because I agree! _You_ love him, yet you can hurt him and bring himdisappointment when you feel it is right. I understood that, so I wasnot angry, but in return you might understand _me_!"

"Forgive me!" cried Stephen. "I should not have said it. You deserveda better return for your kindness. I suppose I must seem veryillogical, but it did not occur to me that the two cases were on aparallel. The love of a _fiancee_ is not as a rule as well balanced asthat of an uncle, Miss O'Shaughnessy!"

"It _ought_ to be, " asserted Pixie. "It ought to be everything thatanother love is, and more! A man's future wife ought to be the personof all others to be reasonable, and unselfish, and logical where he isconcerned, even if it means separation for a _dozen_ years. "

No answer. Stephen gazed blankly into space as if unconscious of herwords. 

"_Oughtn't_ she?"

"Er--theoretically, Miss O'Shaughnessy, she _ought_!"

"Very well, then. I am proud that I _am_, and so ought you to be, too.... It's strange how I'm misunderstood! My family say the same thing--Esmeralda, Geoffrey, Stanor himself, and it hurts, for no one before hasever doubted if I could love... " She was silent for a minute, twistingher fingers together in restless fashion, then looking suddenly into hisface she asked: "What do you know about it to be so sure? Have _you_ever been in love?"

Stephen flushed. 

"Never. No. I was--My accident cut me off from all such things. "

"What a pity! She would have helped you through. " She smiled into hiseyes with a beautiful sweetness. "Well, Mr Glynn, if I am tooreasonable to please you, perhaps Stanor will make up for it. Youmayn't find it so easy to influence _him_. "

"I'm sure of that. I look forward to a stiff time, but if you are on myside we shall bring him round. Now perhaps I had better continue my wayto the house and see Mrs Hilliard. This is pre-eminently yourbusiness, as you say, but still--"

"She'll expect it! Yes--" Pixie rose to her feet with an air ofdepression--"and she'll _crow_! They'll _all_ crow! It's what theywanted, and when you come and lay down an ultimatum, they'll rejoice andtriumph. " Her small face assumed an aspect of acute dejection. "That'sthe worst of being the youngest. ... It's a trying thing when yourfamily insist on sitting in committees about your own affairs, when youunderstand them so much better yourself. I'm not even supposed tounderstand the feelings of my own heart without a sister to translatethem for me. Shouldn't you think, now, a girl of twenty--nearlytwenty-one--is old enough to know that?"

"I don't think it is a foregone conclusion. More things than years goto the formation of character, Miss O'Shaughnessy, and if you will allowme to say so, you seem to me very young for your age. "

"_I_ always was, " sighed Pixie sadly. "They've said that all my life. Some people always _are_ young, and some are old. There was a girl atschool, middle-aged at thirteen, poor creature, and had been from herbirth. My sister Bridgie will never be more than seventeen if she livesto a hundred, and I mean myself to stick at twenty. It doesn't meantrying to look younger than you are, or being ashamed of your age, andsilly, and frivolous: it's just keeping your _heart_ young!"

The man, who was young in years and old in heart, looked down at thegirl with a very sad smile. She spoke as if it were such an easy thingto do: he knew by bitter experience that under such circumstances as hisown it was of all tasks the most difficult. To stand aside during thebest years; to see the tide of life rush by, and have no part in thegreat enterprise; and then to regain his powers when youth had passed, and the keen savour of youth had died down into a dull indifference; tobe dependent for love on the careless affection of a lad, --how was itpossible for a man to keep his heart warm in such circumstances asthese?

"Life has been kind to you, " he answered dryly, and Pixie flung him aquick retort--

"I have been kind to _it_! If I'd chosen I might have found it hardenough. We were always poor. I never remember a time when I hadn't topretend and make up, because it was impossible to get what I wanted. Then I was sent to school, and I hated going, and my father died when Iwas away, and they told me the news with not a soul belonging to meanywhere near, and I loved my father _far_ more than other girls lovetheirs! ... Then we left Knock. ... If _you'd_ lived in a castle, andgone to a villa in a street, with a parlour in front and a dining-roombehind looking out on the kitchen wall, _you_ wouldn't talk about lifebeing kind--!

"I was in France for years being educated, and not able to repinebecause it was a friend and she'd taken me cheaply. Perhaps you'd saythat was luck, and an advantage, and it _was_, but all the same it'shard on a young thing to have to enjoy herself in a foreign language, and spend the holidays with a maiden lady and a snuffy old _Pere_, because there wasn't enough money to come home. Yes, " concluded Pixie, with a smirk of satisfaction, "I've had my trials, and now I'm to becrossed in love, and have my young lover rent from me. ... You couldn'thave the audacity to call life easy after that!"

Stephen tried valiantly to look sympathetic, but it was useless; he wasobliged to smile, and Pixie smiled with him, adding cheerily--

"Anyway, it's living! ... And I do love it when things happen. It's so_dreadfully_ interesting to be alive. "

The man who was old before his time looked down upon the girl with awistful glance. Small as she was, insignificant as she had appeared atfirst sight, he had never seen any one more intensely, vitally alive. Her tiny feet skimmed the ground, her tiny head reared itself jauntilyon the slender neck, the brilliance of her smile, the embracingkindliness of her glance more than compensated for the plainness of herfeatures. Like most people who made the acquaintance of PixieO'Shaughnessy, Stephen Glynn was already beginning to fall under herspell and marvel at the blindness of his first impression. She was_not_ plain; she was _not_ insignificant; she was, on the contrary, unusually fascinating and attractive!

"But she does not love him, " Stephen repeated to himself. "She does notknow what love means. When she does--when she has grown into a woman, and understands--what a wife, what a companion she will make!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THINKING ALIKE. 

Pixie's prophecy that her relatives would "crow" on hearing Mr Glynn'sultimatum, was fulfilled in spirit, if not in letter. 

Geoffrey and Joan Hilliard assumed their most staid and dignified airsfor the important interview, referred to "my sister Patricia" with adeference worthy of a royal princess, and would have Stanor's guardianto understand that the man was not born who was worthy to be her spouse;all the same, as mortal young men went, they had nothing to say againstStanor Vaughan, and if time proved him to be in earnest, both in loveand work, they would be graciously pleased to welcome him into thefamily. Then, the business part of the interview being ended, theambassador was invited to stay to lunch, and Esmeralda swept from theroom, leaving the two men to a less formal colloquy over theircigarettes. 

"It's a comfort to find that we think alike on this matter, " beganGeoffrey, holding out a match for his guest's benefit. "I have feltrather guilty about it, for Pixie was left too much to herself duringour little fellow's illness. She was in trouble herself, poor littlesoul, and, being lonely, was no doubt unduly susceptible to sympathy. Neither my wife nor I suspected any attachment before the night of theboy's accident, and if things had gone on in a normal way I doubt if theengagement would have come off. Pixie is very young; we have hardlyaccustomed ourselves to the idea that she is grown-up. This is thefirst visit she had paid to us by herself, so that we feel responsible. "

"You are uncertain of her feelings? I had the same doubt myself, butwhen I said as much Miss O'Shaughnessy was indignant. She insists thatshe does love the boy. "

Geoffrey Hilliard laughed. 

"It would be difficult to find the person whom Pixie does _not_ love. He is handsome, and he was kind to her when she was lonely. She loveshim as she loves a dozen other friends. But--"

"_But_!" repeated Stephen Glynn eloquently. 

He who had missed the greatest of earthly gifts yet realised enough ofits mystery to join in that eloquent protest. He smoked in silence forseveral moments, while his thoughts wandered backwards. 

"_She would have helped you through_!"

The echo of those words rang in his ears; he heard again the musicaltone of the soft Irish voice, saw again the sweet, deep glance. Strangethat those words had in the very moment of utterance uprooted theconviction of years! Lying prisoner on his couch, he had been thankful, in a grim, embittered fashion which had belied the true meaning of theword, that love had not entered into his life. It would have been butanother cross to bear, since no woman could be expected to be faithfulto a maimed and querulous invalid. Now in a lightning flash he realisedthat there were women--this Irish Pixie, for example--whose love couldtriumphantly overcome such an ordeal. _She_ would have "_helped himthrough_" and, supported and cheered by her influence, his recoverywould doubtless have been far more speedy. He straightened himself, andsaid quickly--

"Miss O'Shaughnessy would make a charming wife. For Stanor's sake Icould not wish anything better than that she may be ready to fulfil herpromise at the end of the two years. "

"There's no doubt about that, " said Geoffrey gravely. "She will beready. There's more than a grain of obstinacy in Pixie's nature--veryamiable obstinacy, no doubt, but it may be just as mischievous on suchoccasions as the present. She has given her word and she'll stick toit, even if she recognises that she has made a mistake. We may talk, but it will have no effect. Unless your nephew himself releases her, she will feel as much bound as if they had been married in WestminsterAbbey. It's the way she's made--the most faithful little creature underthe sun! It will be our duty to protect her against herself, by makingthe young fellow understand that for her sake, almost more than his own, he must be honest, and not allow a mistaken sense of honour to urge himto repeat his proposal if his heart is not in it. He could make Pixiehis wife, but he could never make her happy. The most cruel fate thatcould happen to that little soul would be to be married to a man who didnot love her absolutely!"

Stephen Glynn nodded, his lips pressed together in grim determination. 

"He shall understand. If I know Stanor, there will be no difficulty, inpersuading him. He is a good lad, but it is not in him to sacrificehimself. I have been so anxious to secure him an unclouded youth thathe is hardly to be blamed for putting his own interests in theforeground. "

"It's a fault that many of us suffer from in the early twenties, " saidGeoffrey, lightly. He thought the conversation had lasted long enough, and was glad when the sound of the gong came as an interruption and hecould escort his guest to the dining-room, where the two ladies werealready waiting. 

Luncheon was a cheerful meal despite the somewhat difficult position ofthe diners, and Stephen Glynn felt the pang of the lonely as he absorbedthe atmosphere of love and sympathy. The beautiful hostess looked tiredand worn, but her eyes brightened as she looked at her husband, and, ina quiet, unostentatious fashion, he watched incessantly over hercomfort. It was easy to see that the trial through which this husbandand wife had passed had but riveted the bond between them and broughtthem into closest sympathy, while the little sister comported herselfwith a brisk cheeriness which was as far as possible removed from theattitude of the proverbial damsel crossed in love. The time passed sopleasantly that the visitor was unfeignedly sorry when it was time tomake his farewells. 

Pixie ran upstairs for the small son and heir, who had by now returnedhome, and in her absence Stephen exchanged a few last words withEsmeralda. 

"I am immensely relieved and thankful that you and your husband feelwith me in this matter. And Miss O'Shaughnessy has been wonderfullyforgiving! She does not appear to bear me any rancour. "

Esmeralda gave a short, impatient laugh. 

"_Rancour_! _Pixie_! You know very little of my sister, Mr Glynn, tosuggest such a possibility. She is incapable of rancour!"

Pixie returned at this moment, leading Geoff by the hand, and when thegreat car glided up to the door, she and the boy went out together tosee the last of the departing guest. Stephen stepped haltingly into thecar, and leaned over the side to wave his own farewells. Pixie smiled, and waved in reply, and the sun shone down on her uncovered face. Stephen would have been thankful if he could have carried away thatpicture as a last impression, but as the car moved slowly from the door, she stepped back into the shadow of the porch, and he caught a lastglimpse of her standing there, gazing after him with a grave, fixedgaze. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

"I WILL BE TRUE. "

Stephen Glynn's dreaded interview with his nephew was a typical exampleof the unexpectedness of events, for instead of the indignant oppositionwhich he had feared, his proposition was listened to in silence, andaccepted with an alacrity, which was almost more disconcerting thanrevolt. 

In truth Stanor saw in the proposal an escape from what had proved adisappointing and humiliating position. His pride had been hurt by theattitude of Pixie's relatives, and he could not imagine himself visitingat their houses with any degree of enjoyment. A dragging engagement inEngland would therefore be a trying experience to all concerned, and itseemed a very good way out of the difficulty to pass the time of waitingabroad. 

From his own point of view, moreover, he was relieved not to begin hisbusiness life in London, where so far he had been free to pursue hispleasures only. To be cooped up in a dull city office, while but a mileor two away his friends were taking part in the social functions of theseason, would be an exasperating experience, whereas in New York hewould be troubled by no such comparisons, but would find much to enjoyin the novelty of his surroundings. Two years would soon pass, and atthe end he would come home to an assured position, marry Pixie, and livehappily ever after. 

He sat gazing thoughtfully into space, the fingers of his right handslowly stroking his chin, a picture of handsome, young manhood, whilethe deep blue eyes of Stephen Glynn watched him intently from across theroom. A long minute of silence; then the two pairs of eyes met, andStanor found himself flushing with a discomfort as acute as mysterious. He straightened himself, and put a hasty question--

"What does Pixie say?"

"Miss O'Shaughnessy was--" Stephen hesitated over the word--"she seemedto think that my wishes should have weight. She will consent toanything that seems for your good. She said that two years wouldquickly pass. "

Stanor frowned. The thought had passed through his own brain, but noman could approve of such sentiments on the part of a _fiancee_. Therewas an edge of irritation in his voice--

"Of course your wishes should be considered. I don't need any one toteach me that. I am quite willing to go to America and do my best. Ishall be glad of the change, but it's nonsense to talk of not beingbound. We _are_ bound! We need not correspond regularly, if you make apoint of that. I don't think much of letters in any case. Writing oncea week, or once in two or three months, can make no difference. There'sonly _one_ thing that counts!"

Stephen assented gravely. 

"Just so. From what I have seen of Miss O'Shaughnessy, I realise thather only hope of happiness is to marry a man who can give her awhole-hearted love. "

Stanor's glance held a mingling of surprise and displeasure--surprisethat the Runkle should offer any opinion at all on matters sentimental;displeasure, that any one should dictate to him concerning Pixie'swelfare. He switched the conversation back to more practical matters. 

"When shall I start? The sooner the better. If the post is open thereis no object in wasting time. " His face lit up with sudden animation. "I say! Could we manage it in a fortnight, should you think? Miss Wardis sailing by the `Louisiana, ' and it would be topping if I could go bythe same boat. I might wire to-day about a berth. "

"Who is Miss Ward?"

"Honor Ward--an American. Awfully jolly! No end of an heiress! I'vemet her a good deal this year, and she was staying at the Hilliards' atthe time of the accident. Awfully fond of Pixie, and a real good sort!"He laughed shortly. --"We _ought_ to go out together, for we arementally in the same boat. She had intended to stay over the summer, but ... Her romance has gone wrong too!"

"Indeed!"

Stephen was not interested in Miss Ward's romance, but he made noobjection to the sending of a wire to the Liverpool office of thesteamship company, and before evening the berth was secured and Stanor'sdeparture definitely dated. 

"I'll spend the rest of the time with Pixie, " was Stanor's firstdetermination, but each hour that passed brought with it a recollectionof some new duty which must needs be performed. One cannot leave one'snative land, even for a couple of years, without a goodly amount ofpreparation and leave-taking, and the time allotted to Pixie dwindleddown to a few hasty visits of a few hours' duration, when the lovers sattogether in the peacock walk, and talked, and built castles in the air, and laughed, and sighed, and occasionally indulged in a little, mildsparring, as very youthful lovers are apt to do. 

"I must say you are uncommonly complacent about my going! A fellowhardly expects the girl he's engaged to, to be in such uproariousspirits just on the eve of their separation, " Stanor would grumblesuddenly at the end of one of his _fiancee's_ mirthful sallies, whereupon Pixie, her vanity hurt by his want of appreciation, would snapout a quick retort. 

"If I'm sad you want me to be glad, and if I'm glad you're annoyed thatI'm not sad! There's no pleasing you! You ought to be thankful thatI'm so strong and self-controlled. ... Would it make it easier; if Iwere hanging round your neck in hysterics?"

"Oh, bar hysterics! But a tear or two now and then... Suppose it wasBridgie who was going instead of me?--would you be as strong andself-controlled?"

"If Bridgie were going I'd ... I'd jump--" In the midst of herpassionate declaration Pixie drew herself up, shot a frightened glance, and concluded lamely, "I'd ... Be very much distressed!"

"That's not what you were going to say. You were going to say thatyou'd jump into the water and swim after her, or some such nonsense. You can be perfectly cool and calm about _my going_, but when it comesto Bridgie--"

"If it'll please you better, I'll begin to howl this minute! I don'toften, but when I do, it seems as if I could never stop. I _thought_, "Pixie added reproachfully, "when a girl was engaged the man thought herperfect, and everything she did, and she sat listening while he sang herpraises from morn to night. But _you_ find fault--"

"I don't call it finding fault to wish you would show more feeling!It's the best sort of compliment, if you could only see it. "

"I like my compliments undiluted, not wrapped up in reproaches, likepowder in jam. Besides, you're fairly complacent yourself! I heard youtelling Geoffrey that you expected to have a real good time. "

"And suppose I did? What about that? Would you prefer me to be lonely, and miserable?"

"Oh _dear_!" cried Pixie poignantly; "we're quarrelling! Whose faultwas it? Was it mine? I'm sorry, Stanor. _Don't_ let's quarrel! Iwant you to be happy. Could I love you if I didn't do that? I want itmore than anything else. Honor is coming to-morrow, and I shall ask herto look after you for me. She knows so many people, and is so rich thatshe has the power to help. She will be glad to have you so near. _Why_is she going home so _soon_, Stanor? I thought--"

"So did we all, but it's fallen through somehow. I met Carr in townlooking the picture of woe, but, naturally, he didn't vouchsafe anyexplanation. Honor will probably unburden herself to you to-morrow. "

"She will. If she doesn't I shall ask her, " said Pixie calmly. "I'mcrossed in love myself, so I can understand. It's no use trying tosympathise till you've had a taste of the trouble yourself. Has it everoccurred to you to notice the mad ways most people set aboutsympathising? Sticking needles all over you while they're trying to bekind. Sympathising is an art, you know, and you have to adapt it toeach person. Some like a little and some like a lot, and some likecheering up, and others want you to cry with them and make the worst ofeverything, and then it's off their minds and they perk up. Bridgie andI used to think sometimes of hiring ourselves out as professionalsympathisers, for there seems such a lack of people who can do itproperly. "

"Suppose you give me a demonstration now! You haven't been too generousin that respect, Pixie. "

Pixie looked at him, her head on one side, her eyes very intent andserious. 

"You don't _need_ it, " she said simply, and Stanor looked hurt anddiscomfited, and cast about in his mind for a convincing retort whichshould prove beyond doubt the pathos of his position, failed to find it, and acknowledged unwillingly to himself that as a matter of fact he_was_ very well satisfied with the way in which things were going. Pixie was right--she usually _was_ right; it might, perhaps, be moreagreeable if on occasions she could be judiciously blind! He adoptedthe pained and dignified air which experience had taught him was thesurest method of softening Pixie's heart, and in less than a minute shewas hanging on his arm and contradicting all her former statements. 

Stanor was very much in love as he travelled back to town that day, andthe two years of waiting seemed unbearably long. Perhaps, if he got onunusually well, the Runkle might be induced to shorten the probation. He would sound him at the end of the first year. 

The next day Honor Ward made a farewell visit to the Hall, and tooklunch with the family in the panelled dining-room, where she had joinedin many merry gatherings a few weeks before. Pixie saw the brown eyesflash a quick glance at the place which had been allotted to RobertCarr, but except for that glance there was no sign of anything unusualin either looks or manner. Honor was as neat, as composed, as assuredin manner as in her happiest moments, and the flow of her conversationwas in no wise moderated. Her hurried departure was explained by acasual "I guessed I'd better, " which Mr and Mrs Hilliard accepted assufficient reason for a girl who had no ties, and more money than sheknew how to use. Even Pixie's lynx-eyes failed to descry any sign ofheart-break. But when the meal was over and the two girls retiredupstairs for a private chat, Honor's jaunty manners fell from her like acloak, and she crouched in a corner of the sofa, looking suddenly tiredand worn. For the moment, however, it was not of her own affairs thatshe elected to speak. 

"Pat-ricia, " she began suddenly, turning her honey-coloured eyes on herfriend's face with a penetrating gaze, "I guess this is about the lastreal talk you and I are going to get for a good long spell. There's notime for fluttering round the point. What I've got in my mind I'm goingto _say_! What in the land made you get engaged to Stanor Vaughan?"

"Because he asked me, of course!" replied Pixie readily, and theAmerican girl gave a shrug of impatience. 

"If another man had asked you, then, it would have been just the same. You would have accepted him for, the same reason!"

Pixie's head reared proudly; her eyes sent out a flash. 

"That's horrid, and you _meant_ it to be! I shan't answer yourquestions if you're going to be rude. "

"I'm not rude, Patricia O'Shaughnessy. You're a real sweet girl, and Iwant you should be as happy as you deserve, which you certainly won't beif you don't take the trouble to understand your own heart. What's allthis nonsense about being bound and not bound, and waiting for two yearswithout writing, he on one side of the ocean, and you on another? I canunderstand an old uncle proposing it--it's just the sort of scheme anold uncle _would_ propose--but it won't work out, Patricia, you take myword for that!"

"Thank you, my dear, I prefer to take my own; and he's _not_ old. Hehas the most beautiful eyes you ever beheld. What do you suppose Stanorwould say if he knew you were talking to me like this?"

"I'm not saying a word against Stanor! Who could say a word againstsuch an elegant creature? He's been a good friend to me, and he's goingto make a first-rate man when he gets to work, and has something tothink about besides his beautiful self. America'll knock the nonsenseout of him. At the end of two years, it will be another man who comeshome, a _man_ instead of a boy, just as you will probably be a womaninstead of a girl. It's the most critical time in life, when thatchange is taking place, and you'd better believe I know what I'm talkingabout. If I were in your place I'd move mountains, Patricia, ifmountains had to be moved, but I'd make sure that the man I loved didn'tgo through it apart from me!"

"But if the mountain happened to be an uncle, and the uncle had doneeverything, and was willing to go on doing everything, and was older andwiser, and knew better than you? Oh, dearie me, " concluded Pixieimpatiently, "_everybody_ seems against me! I'm lectured and thwartedon every side, I've not been brought up to it, and it's most depressing. And it's not a bit of good, either; it's my own life, and I shall do asI like. And what about yourself, me dear? You are very brave aboutlecturing me. Suppose _I_ take a turn! Why are you going back toAmerica and leaving Robert Carr behind? What have you been doing tohim?"

"I asked him to marry me, and he refused. "

Pixie sat stunned with surprise and consternation. Honor's voice hadbeen flat and level as usual, not a break or quiver had broken its flow, but there was a pallor round the lips, a sudden sharpening of thefeatures, which spoke eloquently enough, and smote the hearer to theheart. 

"Oh, me dear, forgive me!" she cried deeply. "I'm ashamed. Don't sayany more. I'd no right to ask. "

"I meant to tell you. I'd have told you in any case. You guessed howit was when we were here. You can't be in love like that and _not_ showit. --I thought of him all day; I dreamt of him all night ... When he wasout of the room I was wretched; when he came in I knew it by instinct;before I could see him I knew it! In a crowded room I could hear everyword he said, see every movement. ... When I was sitting alone, andheard his voice in the distance, my heart leapt--it made me quite faint. I _loved_ him, Pixie!"

Pixie sat staring with startled gaze. She did not speak, and for amoment it seemed that her thoughts had wandered from the story on hand, for her eyes had an _inward_ look, as though she were puzzling out aproblem which concerned herself alone. She started slightly as Honoragain began to speak, and straightened herself with a quick air ofattention. 

"Sometimes I thought he loved me too, but he was not the sort of man whowould choose to marry an heiress. My money stood between us. So I ... I tried to make it easier by showing him ... How I felt. When we wentback to London he said good-bye, and refused my invitations, but I methim by accident, and, " she straightened herself with a gesture of pride, "I am not ashamed of what I did. It would have been folly to sacrificehappiness for the sake of a convention ... I _asked_ him--"

"And?"

"_He cared_!" Honor said softly. "I had my hour, Pixie, but it was_only_ an hour, for at the end we got to business, and that wrecked itall. I've told you about my factory. Over here in England, when peoplehave looked at me through monocles, there _have_ been times when I'vebeen ashamed of pickles, but at home I'm proud! Father started as aworking lad, and built up that great business, brick by brick. Threethousand `hands' are employed in the factory, but they were never`hands' to him, Patricia, they were _souls_! He'd been a working manhimself, and there was not one thing in their lives he didn't know andunderstand. One of the first things I can remember, right away back inmy childhood, is being taken to a window to see those men stream past, and being told they were my friends and that I was to take care of them. He had no airs, my pappa; he never gave himself frills, or pretended tobe anything different from what he was--there was only one thing he wasproud of, and that was that his men were the happiest and most contentedin the States. When he died he left me more than his money, he left mehis _men_!"

Honor paused, her eyes bright with suppressed feeling, and Pixie, keenas ever to appreciate an emotional situation, drew a fluttering breath. 

"Yes, yes! How beautiful! How fine! All those lives ... Honor, aren't you proud?"

"I've told you before, my dear. The best part of me is proud and glad, but we're pretty complex creatures, and I guess a big duty is bound tocome up against a pleasure now and then. At the moment I was speakingof, it was one man against three thousand, and the one man weighed downthe scale. "

"But ... But I don't understand. " Pixie puckered her brows inbewilderment. "Why couldn't you have both?"

"I thought I could, Patricia. I calculated, as my work wasfull-fledged, and his had hardly begun, that he would be willing to comeover with me. It's a pretty stiff proposition for a woman to run a bigshow like that, and I'd have been glad of help. _He_ allowed I'd haveto sell up and keep house for him in England, and make a splash amongthe big-wigs to help him in his career. He put it as politely as heknew how, but he made me understand that it was beneath his dignity tolive in America and work in pickles, and he guessed if I sold out Icould find a buyer who would look after the men as well as or betterthan I did myself. So--" she waved her small white hands--"there wewere! He wouldn't, and I couldn't! That's the truth, Patricia. Icould _not_! I don't dispute that another person might not manage aswell as I, that's not the question. It's my work, it's myresponsibility; those men were left to _me_, and I can't desert. So thedream's over, my dear, and I'm going back to real hard life. "

Pixie nodded, the big tears standing in her eyes. 

"I should have done the same. He didn't love you _enough_. "

Honor gave a quivering laugh. 

"He said the same of me. Couldn't seem to see any difference betweenthe two `give-ups'; but there _is_ a difference, Patricia. Well, mydear, that's the end of it. We said good-bye, and there's no reason whywe should meet again. ... Our lives lie in different places, and it'sno use trying to join them. "

"Honor, dear, are you very unhappy?"

Honor's neat little features puckered in a grimace. 

"I wouldn't go so far as to say I feel exactly gay, Patricia, but don'tyou worry about me. I'll come up smiling. You wouldn't have me pinefor the sake of a man who wouldn't have me when he got the chance? Iguess Honor P Ward has too much grit for that!"

Pixie nodded slowly. 

"But you mustn't be too hard on him, Honor--It's natural to want to livein one's own country, and he loves _his_ work just as you do yours. He'll be a judge some day--chins like that always _do_ succeed--andambition means so much to a man. You might have been pleased for yourown sake; but would you have thought more of _him_ as a _man_ if he'dthrown it all up and lived on your pickles?"

Honor brought her eyebrows together in a frown. 

"Now, Pixie O'Shaughnessy, don't you go taking his part! I guess I'vegot about as much sense of justice as most, and in a few months' timeI'll see the matter in its right light, but for the moment I'm injured, and I _choose_ to feel injured; and I expect my friends to feel injuredtoo. I've offered myself to an Englishman, and he's refused to have me. There's no getting; away from that fact, and it's not a soothingexperience for a free-born American. I'm through with Englishmen fromthis time forth!"

"Except Stanor! Be kind to Stanor. He's always liked you, Honor, andhe knows no one in America. Promise me to be kind to Stanor, and seehim as often as you can!"

Honor's brown eyes searched Pixie's face with a curious glance. Then, rising from her chair, she crossed the room and kissed her warmly uponthe cheek. 

"Yes, I'll look after him. I'll do anything you want, and nothing you_don't_ want. You can trust me, my dear. Remember that, won't you?You're a real sweet thing, Patricia!"

Pixie laughed with characteristic complacence. 

"Yes; but why especially at this moment? I always _am_, aren't I? Andhow superfluous, me dear, to talk of trust? What have I got to trust?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A fortnight later Geoffrey and Joan Hilliard, Stephen Glynn, and Pixiejourneyed to Liverpool to see the last of the travellers. The littleparty stood together on the deck of the great vessel, surrounded onevery side by surge and bustle, but silent themselves with the silencewhich falls when the heart is full. Travelling down to Liverpool theyhad been quite a merry party, and there had been no effort in keepingthe conversation afloat; but the last moments sealed their lips. Honordrew a few yards apart with the elderly, kindly-faced maid who was herfaithful attendant; Stephen Glynn and the Hilliards strolled away in anopposite direction. Pixie and her lover stood alone. 

"Well, little girl... This is good-bye! Don't forget me, darling... "

Pixie gulped. 

"Take care of yourself, Stanor. Be happy! ... I want you to be happy. "

"I shall be wretched!" said Stanor hotly. "I'm leaving you. Oh!Pixie--" He broke off suddenly as the last bell sounded its warningnote, and bent to kiss her lips; "Good-bye, my little love!"

The tears poured down Pixie's face as she turned aside, and GeoffreyHilliard led her tenderly down the gangway on to the landing-stage, where they stood together, tightly jammed in the crowd which watched thegreat steamer slowly move into the stream. Stanor and Honor werestanding together leaning over the towering hull; their faces were pale, but they were smiling bravely, and Pixie wiped away her own tears andwaved an answering hand. Esmeralda was holding her hand in a tenderpressure; Geoffrey on one side, and Stephen Glynn on the other wereregarding her with anxious solicitude. She smiled back with tremulousgratitude and gripped Esmeralda's hand. Though Stanor was going, therewas still much left, so many people to care and be kind. 

The great vessel quivered and moved slowly forward. Honor drew a littlewhite handkerchief from her bag and waved it in the air; on all sidesthe action was repeated, accompanied by cries of farewell mingled withsounds of distress. Pixie caught the sound of a sob, and craned forwardto look in the face of a girl about her own age who stood on the otherside of Stephen Glynn. She wore a small, close-fitting cap, which lefther face fully exposed as it strained towards that moving deck, and onthe small white features was printed a very extremity of anguish. Shewas not crying; her glazed eyes showed no trace of tears, she seemedunconscious of the deep sobs which issued from her lips; every nerve, every power was concentrated in the one effort to behold to the lastpossible moment one beloved face. Instinctively Pixie's eyes followedthose of the girl's, and beheld a man's face gazing back, haggard, a-quiver, almost contorted with suffering. The story was plain to read. They also were lovers--this man and this girl. They also were facingyears of separation, and the moment of parting held for them thebitterness of death. Pixie O'Shaughnessy glanced from one to the other, and then thoughtfully, deliberately along the deck to the spot wherestood her own lover, handsome Stanor, bending his head to overhear aremark from Honor, stroking his blonde moustache. He looked dejected, depressed; but compared with the depth of emotion on the other man'sface, such meagre expressions faded into nothingness. The moment duringwhich she gazed at his face held for Pixie the significance of years;then once more her eyes returned to the girl by her side... 

With every minute now the great vessel was slipping farther and fartherfrom the stage; the faces of her passengers would soon cease to bedistinguishable; in a few minutes they would be lost to sight, yetPixie's gaze remained riveted on the girl by her side, and on her ownface was printed a mute dismay which one onlooker at least was quick toread. 

"_She understands_!" Stephen Glynn said to himself. "That girl's facehas been an object lesson stronger than any words. She understands thedifference. "

A moment later he met Pixie's eyes, and realised afresh the truth of hisdiagnosis; but she drew herself up with a sort of defiance, and turnedsharply aside. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the train returning to town Pixie sat mute and pallid, and was waitedupon assiduously by her sister and brother. To them it seemed naturalenough that the poor child should collapse after the strain of parting. Only one person understood the deepest reason of her distress. Heoffered none of the conventional words of sympathy, and forebore to echoEsmeralda's rosy pictures of the future. It brought another pang toPixie's sore heart to realise that he _understood_. "But I will betrue, " she repeated to herself with insistent energy; "I will be true. I have given my word. " She felt very tired and spent as she lay back inthe corner of her cushioned seat. On heart and brain was anunaccustomed weight; her very limbs felt heavy and inert, as if themotive power had failed. Virtue had gone out of her. At the sight ofthat anguished face, the years of Pixie's untroubled girlhood had cometo an end. Henceforth she was a woman, carrying her own burden. "But Iwill be true, " she repeated gallantly; "I will be true!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

PIXIE SEEKS ADVICE. 

A tall young man lay stretched upon a narrow bed which filled an entirewall of the one and only sitting-room in a diminutive London flat. Onthe wall opposite was a fireplace and a small sideboard; against thethird wall stood a couple of upright chairs. In the centre of the roomstood a table. A wicker arm-chair did duty for an invalid tray, andheld a selection of pipes, books, and writing materials, also a bottleof medicine, and a plate of unappetising biscuits. 

The young man took up one of the biscuits, nibbled a crumb from theedge, and aimed the remainder violently at a picture at the other end ofthe room. It hit, and the biscuit broke into pieces, but the glassremained intact, a result which seemed far from satisfactory to theonlooker. He fumbled impatiently for matches with which to light hispipe, touched the box with the tips of his outstretched fingers, andjerked it impatiently, whereupon it rolled on to the floor to a spotjust a couple of inches beyond the utmost stretch of his arm. There itlay--obvious and aggravating, tempting, baffling, inaccessible. Pipeand tobacco lay at hand to supply the soothing which he so sorely neededat the end of a lonely, suffering day, and for the want of that box theymight as well have been a mile away! A bell was within reach, but whatuse to ring that when no one was near to hear? The slovenly woman whocalled herself a working housekeeper found it necessary to sally fortheach afternoon on long shopping expeditions, and during her absence hermaster had to fend for himself as best he might. 

Dislocation of the knee was the young man's malady, just a sharp, swiftrush at cricket, a slip on the dry grass, and Pat O'Shaughnessyshuddered every time he thought of the hours and days which followedthat fall. He had asked to be taken home, for the tiny flat was a newpossession, and as such dear to his heart. And to his home they carriedhim, and there he had lain already for longer than he cared to think. He had progressed to the point when he had been able to dismiss anexcellent but uncongenial nurse, and manage with an hour's assistancemorning and night; and what with reading the newspapers, smoking hispipe, and writing an occasional letter the first part of the day passedquickly enough. 

Lunch was served at one o'clock on a papier-mache tray spread with acrumpled tray cloth. It was a tepid, tasteless, unappetising meal, forthe working housekeeper knew neither how to work nor to cook, and Patinvariably sent it away almost untasted; yet every day he looked forwardafresh to the advent of one o'clock and the appearance of the tray. Itwas something to happen, something to do, a change from the reading, ofwhich he was already getting tired. But, after lunch, after he hadwakened from the short siesta; and realised that it was not yet threeo'clock, and that six, seven hours still remained to be lived throughbefore he could reasonably hope to settle for the night--that was adreary time indeed, and Pat, whose interests lay all outdoors, knew nomeans of lightening it. 

For the first week of his confinement Pat had had a string of visitors. The members of his cricket team had appeared to express sympathy andencouragement; some of the men against whom he had been playing had alsoput in an appearance; "fellows" had come up from "the office, " but inthe busy life of London a man who goes _on_ being ill is apt to findhimself left alone before many weeks have passed. There was only oneman who never failed to put in an appearance at some hour of the day, and on that man's coming Pat O'Shaughnessy this afternoon concentratedevery power in his possession. 

"They say if you wish hard enough you can make a fellow do what youlike. If there's any truth in it, Glynn ought to come along prettysoon. How am I going to lie here all afternoon and stare at thosemiserable matches? That wretched woman might be buying the town ... Wish to goodness she'd fetch something fit to eat. If that doctorfellow won't tell me to-morrow how much longer I have to lie here, I'll--I'll get up and walk, just to spite him!" Pat jerked defiantlyand immediately gave a groan of pain. Not much chance of walking yetawhile!

He wriggled to the edge of the sofa, and made another unsuccessfulstretch for the matchbox, but those baffling two inches refused to bemastered. Pat looked around in a desperate search for help, seized abiscuit, and aimed it carefully for the farther edge of the box, which, hit at the right angle, might perhaps have been twitched nearer to thesofa, but though Pat had considerable skill in the art of throwing, hehad no luck this afternoon. Biscuit after biscuit was hurled withincreasing violence, as temper suffered from the strain of failure, andeach time the matchbox jumped still farther _away_, while another showerof biscuit crumbs bespattered the carpet. Then at last when the platewas emptied, and the last hope gone, deliverance came at the sound ofthe opening of the front door, and a quick, well-known whistle. Glynn!No one else knew the secret of the hidden key. Pat halloed loudly inresponse, and the next moment Stephen stood in the doorway, looking withbewildered eyes at the bespattered carpet. 

"What's this? Playing Aunt Sally? Rather a wanton waste of biscuits, isn't it?"

"Try 'em, and see! Soft as dough. Give me that matchbox, Glynn, like agood soul. It fell off my chair, and I've been lying here pining for asmoke, and making pot shots of it, till I felt half mad. --If you onlyknew--"

Stephen Glynn _did_ know. It was that knowledge which brought himregularly day by day to the little flat at the top of eighty odd stairs. 

He walked across the room, his limp decidedly less in evidence throughthe passage of the years, reclaimed the matchbox, and seated himself onthe edge of the couch. 

"Light up, old fellow! It will do you good. "

Pat struck the match and sucked luxuriously. There was no need to makeconversation to Glynn. He was a comfortable fellow who alwaysunderstood. It was good to see him sitting there, to look at his fine, grave face, and realise that boredom was over, and the happiest hour ofthe day begun. 

"I say, Glynn, I _made_ you, come! Mesmerised you. It drives a fellowcrazy to be done by a couple of inches. They say if you concentrateyour thoughts--"

"I arranged this morning to call at five o'clock. I should say by thelook of things you had concentrated on biscuits. ... Where's that oldwoman?" Glynn inquired. 

"Shopping. Always is. And never buys anything by the taste of thefood. You should have seen my lunch! I'll be a living skeleton at thisrate. "

Pat spoke laughingly, but the hearer frowned, and looked quickly at thesharpened face, on which weeks of solitary confinement had left theirmark. 

"Why don't you round into her?"

"Daren't! Might make off and leave me in the lurch. They do, you know. Fellows have told me. Any one is better than no one at all when youare minus a leg. "

"And about that letter? The time limit runs out to-morrow. You knowwhat I threatened?"

Pat shrugged impatiently. 

"You and your threats! What's the sense in worrying when it's got to_end_ in worrying, and can do no good? I've told you till I'm tired--the Hilliards are abroad, Dick Victor is down with rheumatism, andBridgie makes sure he's going to die every time his finger aches. She'dleave him if I died first, I suppose, but I wouldn't make too sure evenof that. 'Twould have finished her altogether to know that I was lyinghere all these weeks. However!" Pat shrugged again, "you've got yourway, bad luck to you! Bridgie wrote to ask me to run down over aSunday, to cheer Victor, so there was nothing for it but to own up. She'll write me reams of advice and send embrocations. Serve you jollywell right if I rubbed them on _you_ instead!"

"Fire away, I don't mind! Your muscles would be the better for a littleexercise. "

Stephen Glynn leaned back in his chair and looked affectionately atPat's dark, handsome face. 

Twelve months before the two men had been introduced at a dinnerfollowing a big cricket match in which Pat had distinguished himself bya fine innings. 

Stephen Glynn from his seat on the grand stand had applauded with therest of the great audience, and looking at the printed card in his handhad wondered whether by chance P. D. O'Shaughnessy was any relation ofthe Irish Pixie to whom Stanor Vaughan had wished to be engaged. Thewonder changed to certainty a few hours later on as he was introduced tothe young player, and met the gaze of his straight, dark eyes! Pat wasthe handsomest of the three brothers, nevertheless it was not so much ofbeautiful Joan Hilliard that the beholder was reminded, at this moment, as of the younger sister, who had no beauty at all, for Esmeralda'sperfect features lacked the irradiation of kindliness and humour whichcharacterised Pat and Pixie alike. 

Stephen Glynn was not given to sudden fancies, but Pat O'Shaughnessywalked straight into his heart at that first meeting, and during theyear which followed the acquaintance so begun had ripened into intimacy. Stephen spent a great part of his time in chambers in town, where theyoung man became a welcome guest, and no sooner had Pat soared to thegiddy height of possessing a flat of his own, and settled down as ahouseholder, than the accident had happened which made him dependent onthe visits of his friends. 

Pat was aware of Stephen's connection with his family, and moreespecially with Pixie, but after one brief reference the subject hadbeen buried, though Pixie herself was frequently mentioned. There was aportrait of her on Pat's mantelpiece to which Stephen's eyes oftenstrayed during his visits to the flat. Truth to tell it was not aflattering portrait. Pixie was unfortunate so far as photography wasconcerned, since all her bad points were reproduced and her charmdisappeared. Stephen wondered if Stanor were gazing at the samephotograph in New York, and if his imagination were strong enough tosupply the want. For himself he had no difficulty. So vivid was hisrecollection that even as he looked the set face of the photographseemed to flash into smiles... 

"Well, I am glad you have given in, " he said, continuing his sentenceafter a leisurely pause, "because my threat was real. I shouldcertainly have written to your people if you hadn't done it yourself. You are not being properly looked after, young man. To put it bluntly, you are not having enough to eat. When do you expect that obnoxious oldfemale to come back and make tea?"

"'Deed, I've given over expecting, " said Pat despondently. "Most daysI'm ready to drink the teapot by the time she brings it in. It's a tossup if we _get_ it at all to-day as she's gone out. "

Stephen rose to his tall height and stood smiling down at the tiredface. 

"You shall have it, my boy. I'll make it myself. It won't be the firsttime. Have you any idea where the crocks live? I don't want toupset--"

Before he could complete his sentence, a thunderous knocking sounded atthe front door, causing both hearers to start with astonishment. Soloud, so vigorous, so long continued was the assault, that the firstsurprise deepened into indignation, and Pat's dark eyes sent out athreatening flash. 

"This is _too_ strong! Lost her key, I suppose, and expects me to crawlon all fours to let her in. You go, Glynn, and send her straight hereto me! I'll give her a bit of my mind. I'm just in the mood to do it. Leaving me alone for hours and then knocking down my door--!"

Stephen Glynn crossed the floor, his face set into an alarmingsternness, for his irritation against his friend's neglectful domestichad been growing for weeks, and this was the culminating point. Heseized the handle, turned it quietly, and jerked the door open with adisconcerting suddenness which had the effect of precipitating thenew-comer into his arms. 

"Me _dear_!" she cried rapturously, as she fell, but the same moment shewas upright again, bolt upright, scorching him with disdainful glance. "It's not!--Where am I? ... They _said_ it was Mr O'Shaughnessy'sflat!"

"It is! It is! Pixie! Pixie! Come in, come quick! Oh, you blessedlittle simpleton, what's the meaning of this? You'd no business tocome. There's no room for you. I'm nearly well now. There's no need--I--I--oh, _Pixie_!" and poor, tired, hungry Pat lay back weakly in hissister's arms, and came perilously near subsiding into tears. It hadbeen hard work keeping up his pecker all these long weeks, it was sooverwhelmingly home-like to see Pixie's face, and listen to her deepmellow tones... 

"There's _got_ to be room, me dear, for I've come to stay. How dare yoube ill by yourself? It's a bad effect London has had on you to make youso close and secretive. You! Who yelled the roof down if you as muchas scratched your finger! We got the note this morning--"

"Glynn made me send it. He's been worrying at me for weeks. Glynn!"Pat raised his voice to a cry. "Where are you? Come in, you beggar. It's Pixie! My sister Pixie. Come and shake hands. "

Stephen and Pixie advanced to meet each other, red in the face andbashful of eye. The encounter at the door had been so momentary thatshe had hardly had time to recognise the pale face with the deep blueeyes, but for him the first note of her voice had been sufficient. 

"I--I thought you were Pat!"

"I--I thought you were the cook. "

She straightened at that, with a flash of half-resentful curiosity. 

"_Why_? Am I so like her? And do you always--"

"No, I don't. Never. But to-day she was out and your brother wanted--"

"Oh, never mind, never mind!" Pat was too greedy for attention tosuffer a long explanation. "What does it matter? She's a wretch, Pixie, and she goes out and leaves me to starve. That good Samaritanwas going to make tea when we heard your knock. "

"I'll make it for you!" Pixie said smiling, but she seated herself byPat's side as she spoke, and slid her hand through his arm, as thoughrealising that for the moment her presence was the most welcome of allrefreshments. She wore a smartly cut tweed coat and skirt, and a softfelt hat with a pheasant's wing, and her brown shoes looked quitepreposterously small and bright. In some indefinable way she lookedolder and more responsible than the Pixie of two years before, andStephen noticed the change and wondered as to its cause. 

"I think I will go now, " he said hastily; "your sister will look afteryou, O'Shaughnessy, and you will have so much to talk about. I'll comeagain!"

But Pat was obstinate; he insisted that his friend should stay on, andappealed to Pixie for support, which she gave with great good will. 

"Please do! We'll talk the better for having an audience. Won't wenow, Pat? We were always vain. "

"We were!" Pat assented with unction. "Especially yourself. Even as achild you played up to the gallery. " He took her hand and squeezed ittightly between his own. "Pixie, I can't believe it! It's too nice tobe true. And Bridgie, what does she say? Does she approve of yourcoming?"

"She did one moment, and the next she didn't. She was torn in pieces, the poor darling, wanting to come to you herself, and to stay with Dickat the same time. You know what she is when Dick is ill! Histemperature has only to go up one point, to have her weeping about Homesfor Soldiers' Orphans, and pondering how she can get most votes. He'sburied with military honours, poor Richard, every time he takes a cold. So I was firm with her, and just packed my things and came off. At myage, " she straightened herself proudly, "one must assert oneself! Iasked her what was the use of being twenty-two, and how she'd have likedit herself if she'd been thwarted at that age, and she gave in andpacked up remedies. " Pixie picked up the brown leather bag which lay onthe floor, and opening it, took out the contents in turns, and laid themon the sofa. "A tonic to build up the system. Beef-juice, to ditto. Embrocation to be applied to the injured part. ... Tabloids. Home-madecake. ... Oh, that tea! I'd forgotten. I'll make it at once, andwe'll eat the cake now. " She jumped up and looked appealingly towardsStephen. "Will you show me the kitchen? I don't know my way throughthese lordly fastnesses!"

They went out of the room together, while Pat called out an eager, "Don't be long!"

It was only a step into the tiny kitchen. In another moment Stephen andPixie stood within its portals, and she had closed the door behind witha careful hand. Her face had sobered, and there was an anxious furrowin her forehead. 

"He looks _ill_!" she said breathlessly. "Worse than I expected. Hesaid he was getting well. Please tell me honestly--Is it _true_?"

"Perfectly true in one sense. The knee is doing well, but his generalhealth has suffered. He has been lonely and underfed, and at the firstthere was considerable pain. I did my best to make him write to youbefore, for he is not fit to be left alone. That servant is lazy andinefficient. "

Pixie glanced round the untidy room with her nose tilted high. 

"'Twill be a healthful shock for her to come back and find a mistress inpossession. We'll have a heart to heart talk to-morrow morning, " sheannounced, with so quaint an assumption of severity that Stephen wasobliged to laugh. She laughed with him, struggling out of her coat, andlooking round daintily for a place to lay it. 

"That nail on the door! There's not a clean spot. Now for the kettle!You fill it, while I rummage. What's the most unlikely place for thetea? It will be there. She's the sort of muddler who'd leave it looseamong the potatoes. "

"It's in the caddy. The brown box on the dresser. I've found itbefore. "

"The caddy!" Pixie looked quite annoyed at so obvious a find. "Oh, soit is. Where's the butter then, and the bread, and the sugar? Where'sthe spoons? Where does she put the cloths? Rake out that bottom bar tomake a draught. Does he get feverish at nights? It's a mercy I broughta cake, for I don't believe there's a _thing_. Does he take it strong?"

She was bustling about as she spoke, opening and shutting drawers, standing on tip-toe to peer over kitchen shelves, lifting the lids ofdishes upon the dresser. One question succeeded fast upon another, butshe did not trouble herself to wait for a reply, and Stephen, watchingwith a flickering smile, was quite nonplussed when at last she paused, as if expectant of an answer. 

"What strong?"

"_Tea_! What else could it be? We were talking of tea. "

"I beg your pardon. So we were. Yes, he does like it strong, andthere's only one set of cups, white with a gold rim. There were twoleft the other day, but it's quite possible they have disappeared. Sheis a champion breaker. "

"We'll have tumblers then, " Pixie said briskly. "The nicest tea I everhad was at a seaside inn where we made it ourselves in a bedroom to savethe expense. Oh, _here_ they are, and here's the milk. Now we shan'tbe long!" Then suddenly, standing before the cupboard door, and tiltingher head over her shoulder, "_When did you hear from Stanor_?" sheasked, in a still, altered voice which struck like a blow. 

Stephen Glynn gave no outward sign of surprise, yet that sudden questionhad sent racing half a dozen pulses, as voicing the words in his ownmind. "When did you hear from Stanor? _What_ do you hear from Stanor?"The first sight of the girl's face had added intensity to the curiosityof years--a curiosity which within the last months had changed intoanxiety. He hesitated before answering the simple question. 

"He does not write often. We had a good deal of correspondence when hedecided to stay in New York the extra six months. He seems to haveacclimatised wonderfully, and to be absorbed in his work, unusuallyabsorbed for his age. "

"But that is what you wanted. You must be pleased about that, " Pixiesaid quietly. She was arranging the cups and saucers on the tray, butshe looked at him as she spoke, a straight, sweet look, which yet heldso much sadness that it cut like a knife. 

"Miss O'Shaughnessy, " he cried impetuously, "can you forgive me? I tooktoo much upon myself. I did it for the best, but--two years is toolong. One settles down. It was a blow to me when he stayed on, for myown sake, and--"

Pixie nodded gravely. 

"Yes. We were both sorry. We wanted of course to see him, but youshould not blame him for loving his work. You blamed him before becausehe was changeable; now he has done so well, you must be proud. " Shesmiled at him with determined cheerfulness. "_I_ am proud. And it isnot as if it were making him ill. He finds time to play. Honor Wardoften writes and she tells me--"

"Miss Ward seems an adept at play, " returned Stephen dryly. 

In truth, the lavishness of the entertainments which Honor had plannedduring the past two years had called the attention of even the Englishpapers. Pixie had read aloud descriptions thereof in the journals inthe northern town where Captain Victor was still stationed, and Bridgielistening thereto had exclaimed in horror: "Special liveries for all themen-servants just for that one evening! How wicked! All that money fora few hours, when poor children are starving, and myself wanting avelvet coat... "

At first Pixie had divined that Honor was trying to drown her sorrow ingaiety, and was even guilty of a girlish desire to "show off" before herformer lover, but as the months grew into years it was impossible toread her letters and not realise that her enjoyment was real, notfeigned, and that she had outgrown regret. Yes, Honor was happy; and tojudge from her accounts Stanor was happy too, able even in his busiestdays to spare time to join the revels, and, indeed, to help in theirorganisation. 

"Miss Ward is an adept at play. I don't approve of these gorgeousentertainments, " said Stephen, and Pixie's eyes lightened with amischievous flash. 

"Seems to me you are never satisfied! Now for myself nothing could begorgeous enough!" She held out a brown teapot with a broken spout. "The water's boiling. Pour it in please, and don't splash! I'll carryit right in, for Pat is impatient. We mustn't keep him waiting. " Shewaited until the pot was safely on the tray, and then added a warning:"Please don't talk about--things--before Pat. He'd worry, but I'd likeyour advice. Another time, perhaps, when we are alone. " Her eyes methis, gravely beseeching, and he looked searchingly back. 

Yes, she had suffered. It was no longer the face of a light-heartedchild. Loyal as ever, Pixie would not listen to a word against herfriend, but what secret was she hiding in her heart?

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

STEPHEN IS ANSWERED. 

For three days after Pixie's arrival Stephen Glynn absented himself fromthe flat, and on the fourth day found a stormy, welcome awaiting him. 

"Ah, Glynn, is that you?" drawled Pat coldly. "Hope you haven'tinconvenienced yourself, don't you know. After so many _duty_ visitsyou are evidently thankful to be rid of me. _Pray_ don't put yourselfout any more on my account. "

Stephen shook hands with Pixie and seated himself beside the bed withundaunted composure. 

"Rubbish, old fellow! And you know it. If you have enjoyed my visits, so have I. But of course now that Miss O'Shaughnessy--"

"If it's myself that's the obstacle I can stay in my room, but if you'veany pity on me, _come_!" interrupted Pixie. "My life's not worth livingtowards the end of the afternoon when Pat is watching the clock, andfidgeting for the ring of the bell. I'm only his sister, you see, andhe wants a _man_! I'll stay out of the room if you'd rather; though I'mnot saying, " she concluded demurely, "that I wouldn't be glad of achange of society myself!"

"It's horribly dull for the poor girl! She doesn't like to leave me, and I don't like her going about alone. You might take her about a bit, Glynn, if you weren't so neglectful and unfriendly! To-morrow's Sunday, and she's dying to go to the Abbey... "

"May I have the pleasure, Miss O'Shaughnessy?" cried Stephen promptly, and Pixie wrinkled her nose and said--

"You couldn't say anything else but yes, but I'll not spite myself justfor the sake of seeming proud. Come and take me, and come back tolunch. You'll get a good one. I've made some changes in thisestablishment. "

"She telegraphed to the Hilliards' housekeeper, and she sent off akitchen-maid--a broth of a girl who romps through the work. And cooks--You wait and see! I lie and dream of the next meal!" Pat chuckled, with restored equanimity. "But if I _am_ living in the lap of luxury_I'm_ not going to be chucked by you, old fellow, " he added. "The moreone has the more one wants. I've grown to count on your afternoonvisit, and it upsets me to go without. My temperature has gone up everynight from sheer aggravation. Isn't that true now, Pixie?"

"More blame to, you!" said Pixie. But her eyes met Stephen's with ananxiety which was not in keeping with her tone, and, in truth, afterfour days' absence the face on the pillow appeared to the onlooker, woefully drawn and white, Stephen registered a vow that Pat'stemperature should not rise again through any neglect of his own. 

"All right, Pat, " he said. "I'll come as usual, and if it'sinconvenient you can turn me out; and if Miss O'Shaughnessy will acceptme for an escort I'll be proud to take her about. We'll begin with theAbbey to-morrow. "

"That's all right; I thought you would. What's the good of aprospective uncle if he can't make himself useful!"

It was the first time Pat had made any reference to Stanor Vaughan, for, like the rest of the family, his pride had been stung by thenon-appearance of Pixie's love, at the expiration of the prescribed twoyears. Pat knew that occasional letters passed between the youngcouple, and that the understanding between them appeared unbroken, butit was a poor sort of lover who would voluntarily add to the term of hisexile. During the four days which Pixie had spent in the flat, almostevery subject under the sun had been discussed but the one whichpresumably lay nearest the girl's heart, and that had been consistentlyshunned. It was only a desire to justify a claim on his friend'sservices which had driven Pat to refer to the subject now, and hesincerely wished he had remained silent as he noted the effect of hiswords. Stephen and Pixie stared steadily into space. Neither spoke, neither smiled; their fixed, blank eyes appeared to give the impressionthat they had not heard his words. In another moment the silence wouldhave become embarrassing had not Pixie rung the bell and given an orderfor tea. 

"Is this your first experience of living in a flat, Miss O'Shaughnessy?How do you like it, as far as you've got?" Stephen asked, with avaliant resolve to second Pixie's efforts, and she turned her facetowards him, slightly flushed, but frank and candid as ever. 

"I love it--it's so social! You know everyone's business as well asyour own. The floors are _supposed_ to be sound-proof, but reallythey're so many sounding-boards. The couple above had a quarrel lastnight--at the high points we could hear every word. It was as good as atheatre, though, of course--" she lengthened her face with a pretence ofgravity--"'twas very sad! But they've made it up to-day, because she'ssinging. She has one song that she sings a dozen times every day ... Something about parting from a lover. Pat says she's been at it formonths past--`_Since_ we parted _yester_ eve. ' ... She feels it, poorcreature! I suggested to Pat that we might board him, so that he mightalways be on the spot, and she wouldn't have to part. He says it wouldbe worth the money. ... The lady below sings `Come back to Erin' by thehour. She's _always_ singing it! We thought of sending a polite noteto say that we had given her request every consideration, but that owingto the unsettled condition of politics in that country we really did notsee our way to move. ... And they have anthracite stoves. "

"Why shouldn't they?" Stephen asked. He had greeted Pixie'sdescription with the delight of one who finds a painful situationsuddenly irradiated by humour, but the anthracite stoves conveyed nomeaning. "Why shouldn't they, if they choose?"

Pixie scowled disapproval. 

"_So_ selfish! Noise like earthquakes every time they rake. I wakeevery morning thinking I'm dead. This morning I counted sixty separaterakes! Now, here's a problem for you, Mr Glynn--How can you avengeyourself on an upstairs flatter? If it's below: it's quite easy--youjust bang with the poker; but how can you do that on your own ceiling?'Tis no consolation to break the plaster!"

The tea was carried in as she spoke, and she rose to seat herself at thetable, giving a friendly smile at the trim maid who had replaced thearrant "housekeeper. "

"Hot scones, Moffatt? You _do_ spoil us!" she said cordially, and thegirl left the room abeam with content. 

"She adores me--all maids do, " announced Pixie, with her complacent airwell to the fore. "It's the way I treat them. My sister, now--BridgieVictor--she's a coward with her maids. She lies awake half the nightrehearsing the best ways of hinting that she'd prefer pastry lighterthan lead, after begging us all as a personal favour to eat it in casecook should be hurt. When I have a house--" She stopped short andbusied herself with her duties, and neither of her listeners questionedher further on the subject. 

Tea was a merry meal, and Pat consumed the dainty fare with undisguisedenjoyment. 

"That's the pull of an accident, " he declared, as he helped himself to athird scone, "_ye can eat_! It's awful to think of poor beggars on adiet. ... Let's have muffins to-morrow, Pixie, _swimming_ with butter. Glynn's coming!"

"Don't tempt me! I am coming to lunch, but you won't want me to stayon. "

"Rubbish! We _do_. Stay for the whole day, and Pixie shall sing to us. It's the least she can do, if you take her to church. "

Stephen looked at his hostess with a glance curiously compounded ofdread and expectation. Music was the passion of his life, so true apassion that it was torture to him to hear the travesties which passedunder its name. Bearing in mind the very small proportion of girls whocould really sing, he wished that the proposal had never been made, since the result would probably mean a jarring episode in a delightfulday. 

"But you have no piano, " he said uncertainly. "How can--"

"It's not a piano would stop me, if I wanted to sing. I don't need anaccompaniment, " Pixie declared, and Stephen shuddered in spirit. Unaccompanied songs were terrible ordeals to the listeners. Eyes aswell as ears were tortured. One never knew where to look! He ponderedas he drank his tea how the situation could be ameliorated, if notescaped, and reminded himself thankfully that if necessary he could hirea piano and send it in. Then, looking up, he met Pat's eyes fixed uponhim with a quizzical smile. Pat showed at times an uncomfortablefaculty for, reading his friends' thoughts, and Stephen realised that itwas in force at this minute, and was thankful that at least it did notfind vent in words. Pixie's happy complacence about her own powers wasso far removed from ordinary conceit that he dreaded to wound it. Hetherefore hastily changed the conversation, and avoided the subject ofmusic for the rest of his call. 

The next morning, after arranging for Pat's comfort, Pixie retired toher eerie, and spent what appeared to the invalid an unconscionably longtime over her toilette. After the cheerful manner of flats, by slightlyraising the voice it was easy to carry on a conversation with a personin an adjoining room, and Pat therefore favoured his sister with astatement that he "expected to see something pretty fetching, after allthis time!" "Ha! Ha!" cried Pixie in return, and her voice gave nohint of modesty. Nevertheless, and for all his expectations, Pat gave agasp of surprise when a few minutes later she sailed into the room. 

She wore a coat and skirt of a soft, mouse-coloured velvet, very quietand nondescript in hue, and the hat, with its curling brim, was coveredwith the same material. So far, very douce and quiet; but entirelyround the hat, and curling gracefully over one side, was a magnificentostrich plume, which was plainly the pride of its owner's heart. Shetossed her head in answer to Pat's uplifted hands, pirouetted round andround, and struck a telling attitude. 

"Yes! _Ain't_ I smart? Me dear, regard the feather! I've longed foryears to possess a scrumptious feather, and have talked by the hour, trying to convince Bridgie it was economical in the end. But shewouldn't. She said 'twas expensive at the start, and she couldn't seeany further. Sometimes she _is_ dense. She can't help it, poorcreature, living with Dick! However, Esmeralda did, and she bought itin Paris to match my coat. It measures a yard, loved one! And _isn't_it kind of it to turn blue at the end? That little touch of blue justbehind my ear _does_ set me off! Honest Indian, Patrick! If you didn'tknow better, and came suddenly into the room, wouldn't you think I was apretty girl?"

"I should!" answered Pat; but a moment later he added, with truebrotherly candour, "But you're not. "

"All the more credit to me!" retorted Pixie glibly. She lifted a chairwhich stood at the left of the fireplace, carried it to a similarposition on the right, and seated herself upon it. "This side's thebest. --I must sit here, and let Mr Glynn see my splendour in fullblast. Won't he be pleased?"

"He'll never notice. Glynn's above hats, " Pat maintained; but, nevertheless, he could not take his own eyes off the dainty grey figure, with the piquant face smiling beneath the brim of the wide hat, and thatfascinating little tip of blue ending the long, grey plume. Hisadmiration showed in his eyes, but he felt it his duty to be bracing inwords. 

"I never thought I should live to see _you_ conceited about clothes!"

"Ye _do_ get these shocks in life. It's a sad old world!" answeredPixie, and grimaced at him saucily, as she buttoned her glove. 

And, after all, Stephen Glynn never did notice the feather. For aten-pound note he could not have described the next day a single articleof Pixie's attire. He was aware, however, it was pleasant to walk aboutwith Pixie O'Shaughnessy, and that passers-by seemed to envy him hispost, and he was relieved that she was disfigured by none of theextremes of an ugly fashion; and, after all, nine men out of ten rarelyget beyond this point. 

They sallied forth together, bidding Pat sleep all morning so as to beready to talk all afternoon, and descended the gaunt stone stairs to thehall. 

They walked quietly, but with enjoyment in each other's company. Theusual crowd blocked the Abbey door, and Stephen and Pixie stood waitingunder the statue of the "third great Canning" for some time, before atlast they were escorted to seats in the nave. The sermon, unfortunately, they could not hear, but the exquisite service was toboth a deep delight. Remembering the conversation of the night before, Stephen dreaded lest Pixie should be one of the mistaken ones who singpersistently through an elaborate choral service, thereby nullifying itseffect for those around. He was thankful to find that his fears wereunnecessary, but once or twice in an unusually beautiful refrain heimagined that his ear caught the sound of a deep, rich note--a soft echoof the strain itself, evoked by an irresistible impulse. He lookedinquiringly at his companion, but her head was bent and the brim of herhat concealed her face. Her stillness, her reverence appealed to hisheart, for it was easy to see that she was enjoying the music not as amere concert, but, above all things, as an accompaniment to the wordsthemselves. One time, when he glanced at her as she rose from herknees, he surprised a glimmer of tears in her _eyes_, and the sightbrought a stab to his heart. Why should she cry? What was the reasonof the air of repression and strain which from time to time flittedacross her face? If it were Stanor's doing. ... Stephen frowned, andresolutely turned his attention to the service. 

They came out of the Abbey to the majestic strains of the organ--out ofthe dim, blurred light shining shaft-like across the glowing mosaic ofgold, and marble, and great jewelled windows, into the hard, everydayworld. The pavements were crowded with pedestrians hurrying here andthere; restaurants had opened their doors, tobacco merchants andnewspaper vendors were hard at work, and country-bred Pixie staredaround in amazed disapproval. They crossed the crowded thoroughfaresand, led by Stephen, found quiet byways in which it was possible to talkin comparative comfort alone. 

"It was better even than I expected, and that's saying so much! It doesone good to go to a service like that. It's so _big_!"

"The--the Abbey?" queried Stephen vaguely, and Pixie gave a quickdenial. 

"No. _No_! Not only the building--everything! There's an atmosphereof peace, and dignity, and calm. One gets away from littleness andquarrelling. It's so sad when people quarrel about religion, and onesect disputes with another... "

"It is indeed, " replied Stephen, sighing. "The chances of conciliationwould be so much greater if they fought with honey, not with gall. ... The world needs kindness--"

"Oh, it does! There is such sorrow, such pain!" Pixie's voice rangsuddenly sharp, and a wave of emotion flitted over her face. She raisedher eyes to his, and said suddenly, in a voice of melting pathos: "_Herface_! ... That girl's face! All these years I've never forgotten. ... It's lain _here_!" She touched her heart with an eloquent finger. "All these years--every night--I've prayed that they might meet... " Sheshook her head with a determined gesture, as though shaking off ahaunting thought. "I couldn't forget, you see, because--it taught me... Things I had not understood--!"

"Yes, " said Stephen dully. For his life he could not have said anotherword. He waited with dread to hear the next words. 

"But it was _worth_ learning!" Pixie said bravely. "I was glad tolearn. Love is such a big, big thing. When it is given to you it's abig responsibility. You must not fail; nothing in the world must makeyou fail!"

Stephen said no word. The questions which had filled his brain for thelast five days were answered now. There was no more room for doubt. Pixie O'Shaughnessy was ready and waiting to marry Stanor Vaughan at anytime when it pleased him to come home and claim her promise. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

A MUSICAL EVENING. 

Pixie had recovered her spirits by the time that the flat was reached, but the invalid was discovered in a distinctly "grumpy" mood. Like manyenforced stay-at-homes, his unselfishness bore him gallantly over thepoint of speeding the parting guests, and expressing sincere good wishesfor their enjoyment. But the long, long hours spent alone, the contrastbetween their lot and his own, the rebellious longing to be up anddoing, all these foes preyed upon the mind, and by the time that thevoyagers returned, a cool, martyr-like greeting replaced the kindlinessof the farewell, which was sad, and selfish, and unworthy, but let thosesuspend their judgment who have never been tried!

"Really? Oh! _Quite_ well, thank you. Did you really?" ... The cold, clipped sentences fell like ice on the listeners' ears, and Pixie, goingout of the room, turned a swift glance at Stephen Glynn, and wrinkledher nose in an expressive grimace. Somehow or other Stephen felt hisspirits racing upward at sight of that grimace. There was a suggestionof intimacy about it, amounting even to confidence: it denoted a_camaraderie_ of spirit which was as flattering as it was delightful. 

Pat, as usual, recovered his good humour at the sight of food, andthoroughly enjoyed the simple but well-cooked meal, while Pixie andStephen tactfully avoided the subject of their morning's excursion. Time enough later on to describe the beauties of that Abbey service!

"Moffatt is going out this afternoon. A friend is to call for her andbring her back this evening. It will be a change for the creature, "announced Pixie when the meal was finished, and, meeting Pat's eye, sheadded quickly, "I'll make tea. "

"What about supper?" queried Pat sternly. "If there's a meal in theweek which I enjoy better than another it is Sunday night supper. What's going to happen about it to-night?"

"'Deed I don't know. Don't fuss! It's beyond me to think two mealsahead. There's cold meat. ... I'll rummage up something when it comesto the time. "

Pat turned gloomily to his friend. 

"_You'd_ better be off, Glynn. I asked you to stay for the day, but inview of unforeseen circumstances. ... Pixie evidently puts Moffatt'spleasure before our food. "

"_I do_!" cried Pixie sturdily. 

Stephen smiled, his bright, transforming smile, and said quickly--

"I'll stay! I'd like to, if you will just excuse me one moment while Itelephone to my man. You have a telephone, I think, in the basement?"

Pixie shuddered. 

"They have; in an ice-box, where every draught that was ever born whirlsaround your feet, and if you speak loud enough, every maid in the placewill hear what you say. It's quite diverting to listen!"

Stephen went off laughing, and Pixie shook up Pat's pillows, bathed hishands, and kissed him several times on the tip of his nose, a proceedingwhich he considered offensive to his dignity, and then went off tochange the crushable velvet skirt for a house dress of her favouriterose hue--a quaint little garment made in a picturesque style, which hadno connection whatever with the prevailing fashion. When she returnedto the sitting-room she seated herself on the floor beside the fire, andPat, now entirely restored to equanimity and a little ashamed of hisprevious ill-humour, himself inquired about the morning's experiences. Like all the O'Shaughnessys he was intensely musical, and during hissojourn in London had taken every opportunity to hear all the goodconcerts within reach. He now wanted to hear about the music in theAbbey, and especially of the anthem, and at the mention of it Pixie drewa deep sigh of enjoyment. 

"Oh, Pat, a boy sang `Oh, for the wings'! If you could have heard it!--A clear, clear voice, so thrillingly sweet, soaring away up to thatwonderful roof. And he sang with such feeling. " ... She began softlyhumming the air, and Stephen knew then for a certainty whence had comethose rich, soft notes which had come to his ears in the Abbey. 

"Sing it, Pixie, sing it!" cried Pat impatiently. "You promised, andit's one of my favourites. Go on; I'll accompany!"

Stephen looked round inquiringly. No piano was in the room, no musicalinstrument of any kind, and Pat lay helpless upon his bed. How, then, could he accompany? The O'Shaughnessy ingenuity had, however, overcomegreater difficulties than this, and it was not the first time by manythat Pat had hummed an effective and harmonious background to hissister's songs. As for Pixie, she opened her mouth and began to sing assimply and naturally as a bird. She had a lovely voice, mezzo-sopranoin range, and though she now kept it sweetly subdued, the hearerrealised that it had also considerable power. She sang as all truesingers do--as if the action gave to herself the purest joy, her headtilted slightly on one side, as if to listen more intently to eachclear, sweet note as it fell from her lips. ... "_Oh, for the wings, for the wings of a dove; far away, far away would I roam_. " ... Thewords blotted out for the hearers the gathering twilight in the prosaiclittle room; far away, far away soared their thoughts to heights loftyand beautiful. "_In the wilderness build me a nest, and remain therefor ever at rest_. " ... How had so young a thing learnt to put sowonderful a meaning into that last word? Pat's rolling accompanimentswelled and sank; now and again for a phrase he softly joined in thewords, and in the concluding phrase still another voice joined in in asoft tenor note agreeable to hear. 

Pixie's eyes met Stephen's with a glow of triumph. "He _sings_!" shecried quickly. "Pat, he sings--pure tenor! Oh, what music we can have, what trios! Isn't it delightful? You can have real concerts now, oldman, without leaving the flat!"

"It was a very beautiful solo, Miss O'Shaughnessy, " said Stephengravely. He was still too much under the influence of the strain tothink of future events. As long as he lived he would remember to-day'sexperience, and see before him the picture of Pixie O'Shaughnessy in herrose frock, with the firelight shining on her face. Her unconsciousnesshad added largely to the charm of the moment, but now that the tensionwas relaxed there was a distinct air of complacence in her reply. 

"'Tis a gift; we all have it. The concerts we had at Knock, and everyone playing a separate instrument, with not a thing to help us but ourown hands! I was the flute. D'ye remember, Pat, the way I whistled aflute till ye all stopped to listen to me?"

"I do not, " said Pat. "I was the 'cello myself, fiddling with a ruleron me own knees, double pedalling with _two_ knees! I had no thoughtfor flutes. Ye made the most noise, I'll say that for ye!"

As usual in any discussion, brother and sister fell back to the brogueof their youth, which time and absence had softened to just an agreeablehint of an Irish accent. Stephen smiled with amusement, and expressed awish to hear the exhibition on another day. 

"But do sing us something else now, " he said; "something worthy to comeafter `The Wings. '"

And for the next hour, while the light waned till they could no longersee one another across the room, Pixie sang one beautiful strain afteranother, always in the same soft, restrained voice, which could neitherdisturb the neighbours above or below, nor be too strong for the size ofthe little room. It was not show singing--rather was it a series of"tryings over, " prefaced by "Oh, do you know this?" or "Don't you lovethat bit?" so that each man felt at liberty to join in as the impulsetook him, till at times all three were singing together. 

The hours sped by with wonderful quickness, and when tea-time arrivedStephen insisted upon his right to help his hostess to clear away themeal, and when they returned to the sitting-room, lo! Pat had fallenasleep, and there was nothing to do for it but to return to the kitchen, now immaculately clean and neat under the rule of the admirable Moffatt. 

"We might as well begin to think about supper, and forage around, " Pixiesuggested, but Stephen echoed her own dislike of thinking of meals toofar ahead, and pled for delay. 

"It's rather a strain to sit and look at cold meat for a solid hour at astretch, don't you think?" he asked persuasively. "It would spoil myappetite. Can't we just--be quiet?"

"You can, " was Pixie's candid answer; "I'm going to write! I've thegreediest family for letters; do as I will, there's never a time whensomebody isn't grumbling! Never mind me, if you want to smoke; Iapprove of men smoking, it keeps them quiet. Can I get you a book?"

Stephen shook his head. Pat's library did not appeal to his moreliterary taste, and he announced himself content without furtheremployment. 

"Oh, well then, _talk_! It won't disturb me, " said Pixie easily; "I'lljust listen or not, according as it's interesting. I'm accustomed to itwith Bridgie. If you want to set her tongue going, just sit down andbegin to write... "

Stephen, however, had no intention of taking advantage of thepermission. He was abundantly content to sit in his comfortable chair, enjoy his novel surroundings (how very cheerful and attractive a _clean_kitchen could be!) smoke his cigarette, and watch Pixie scribbling atfever pace over innumerable pages of notepaper. There were frequentsnatches of conversation, but invariably it was Pixie herself who ledthe way. 

"D'you illustrate your letters when you write them?" she asked at onetime. "I always do! Realistic, you know, and saves time. At thispresent moment--" she drew back from the table, screwing up one eye, andholding aloft her pen in truly professional fashion--"I'm drawing_You_!"

"May I see?"

"You may. ... It's not _quite_ right about the chair legs, they get somixed up. Perspective never was my strong point, " said Pixie, holdingout a sheet and pointing to the masterpiece in question with the end ofher pen. "There!"

Stephen looked and beheld a rough drawing of a preternaturally thin man, with preternatural large eyes, holding a cigarette in a hand joined toan arm which had evidently suffered severe dislocation. It was the typeof drawing affected by schoolboys and girls, yet it had a distinctcleverness of its own. Despite the cart-wheel eyes and the skeletonframe there _was_ a resemblance--there was more than a resemblance, itwas actually _like_, and Stephen acclaimed the fact by a shout oflaughter. 

"I say! Could I have it? It's uncommonly good!"

Pixie shook her head. 

"It's for Bridgie. --Ye notice the mouth? Did you know it twisted whenyou thought? Aren't they _nice_, narrow boots? I'll do one for youanother day. ... Turn over the page! There's another of Pat, as hewill look at the supper to-night. "

The second drawing was even rougher than the first, but again thefaculty for hitting off a likeness was displayed, for Pat, reclining ona bed sloping at a perilous angle towards the floor, gazed at a fragmentof mutton-bone with drooping lids and peaking brows, which representedso precisely his expression when injured, that Stephen shouted onceagain. 

"_Succes fou_!" commented Pixie jauntily, as she settled herself oncemore to her work. "Quite a gift, haven't I? Couldn't do pretties tosave my life, but I _can_ caricature! Now, please, _do_ be quiet! Imust get on... "

Half an hour later a loud rapping on the wall announced the awakening ofthe invalid, who was once more discovered in a fractious mood. 

"Asleep! Nonsense! For two minutes, perhaps. How d'you suppose _any_fellow could sleep, with you two shrieking with laughter every twominutes! If you choose to keep your jokes to yourself, all right, it'snothing to me; but it's half-past seven. ... Where's supper?"

Even as he spoke another rap sounded on the front door--a brisk, imperative rap which brooked no delay. Pixie darted forward, imagininga surprise visit from the doctor, and found herself confronted by a manin black, standing sentinel over a hamper. 

"Mr O'Shaughnessy's flat, madam? I have instructions from Mr Glynn--"

"All right, Saunders, bring it in, bring it in!" cried Stephen quickly. He met Pixie's eyes, flushed, and stammered--

"It's ... Supper!" he said lamely. "I telephoned. It seemed a goodplan, and I thought that, Pat. --Do you _mind_?"

"_Mind_!" repeated Pixie, laughing. "Faith I do! I mind very much; butit's the right way about; it won't be cold mutton, after all! I'll haveto draw another picture. "

The man carried the hamper into the sitting-room, unpacked it deftly, and laid the contents on the table. Soup, smoking hot from a thermosflask, chicken and salad, a shape of cream, and a fragrant pineapple. Pat's lips ceased to droop, his eyebrows to peak: his dark eyes lit withenjoyment. 

"Good old Glynn!" he cried. "What a great idea! Now let's begin, andeat right through... "

As he took part in the happy meal which followed, Stephen Glynnreflected that generosity in giving went also with generosity inreceiving. Pat and his sister would cheerfully give away their lastpenny to a friend in need. It never occurred to them to show lessreadiness to accept when it came to their own turn. Never was asurprise more happily planned; never was a surprise more heartilyenjoyed. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

HE LOVED HER. 

For the next week all went well. Pat's improvement, though slow, was sosure that a definite date was named on which he should be allowed totake his first few steps. The doctor grimaced to Pixie as he gave thispromise, as if to insinuate that the experiment would not be pleasant, but Pat was prepared--in theory at least--for anything and everything, if thereby he might regain his freedom. 

Stephen Glynn paid daily visits to the flat, and, in addition, escortedPixie to various "sights" of the great city, in which, to tell thehonest truth, she showed but little interest. Music was a passion withher, but of pictures she had no knowledge, and little appreciation. Theantiques in the National Gallery left her cold and bored, though she wasfull of interest in what seemed to her companion the most uninterestingmen and women who were employed in copying the canvases. 

When with the frankness of criticism which he had learned from herselfhe rallied her on this inconsistency, Pixie's answer wascharacteristic--

"One is dead, and the other's alive. The most uninteresting live personmeans more to me than a world of pictures. That girl in the grey dresshad tears in her eyes. ... Did you see? She looks so poor. Perhapsshe wants to sell her copy, and no one will buy! There was a mantalking to the fat woman next to her as we passed through before. Hewas writing something in his pocket-book. I believe he was buying thepicture, and the poor grey girl felt so sad. --If Esmeralda were here, I'd make her buy her copy, too. "

"It's a very _bad_ copy!" Stephen pronounced. Then he looked down atthe girl, and the transforming smile lit up his face. "All the same--would I do instead of `Esmeralda'? I'll buy it at once, if you wishit!"

The grey eyes brightened, beamed, then clouded with uncertainty. 

"Really? Ought you? Are you sure? It may cost--"

"That's my affair! Leave that to me. Would you like me to buy it?"

"I would!" came back at once in the deepest tone of the eloquent Irishvoice, and at that Stephen strode forward, his limp hardly observable onthe wide, smooth floor, and came to a halt by the grey girl's side. 

Then followed what was to one spectator at least, a delightful scene. The surprise on the grey girl's face, the incredulity, the illimitablecontent, as the tall stranger made known his request, took out hispocket-book and handed her a card. Emotional Pixie had the softness oftears in her own eyes as Stephen rejoined her, and they walked awaytogether down the long room. 

"Well, " he said smiling, "on your head be it! Now she'll go on paintingatrocities, and wasting good time, when she might be sweeping a floor!It's against my principles to encourage the desecration of art. "

"Why did you do it then?" Pixie demanded heartlessly, but next momentshe smiled a beautiful smile. "_I know_! Thank you! Never mind aboutdesecration. Art can look after itself, and _she_ can't! And even ifthat particular picture isn't beautiful, you have given me another thatis, the picture of her happy face! I think, " she concluded slowly, "it's going to help me. --It will be a contrast to turn, to, when Isee--_that other_!" She sighed, as she invariably did, when referringto those moments on the Liverpool landing-stage, but she shook off thedepression with a characteristic gesture, a defiant little shake notonly of the head, but of the whole body, and cried briskly: "Now let'simagine what she does when she goes home with that cheque!"

At home in the little flat, music made part of every day's programme. Pixie, seated on the hearthrug, would sing Irish ballads in a voice ofcrooning sweetness, she and Pat would join in duets, occasionallyStephen was persuaded to join in a trio, and presently, as theperformers became "worked up" to their task, they would recall one byone performances of bygone days, and perform them afresh for thedelectation of their visitor. Pixie whistled a bird-like accompanimentto Pat's deep drone; Pat, retiring bashfully beneath a sheet, whistledin his turn not only an air, but actually at the same time anaccompaniment thereto, a soprano and contralto combination of sounds, somarvellous to hear that he was compelled to repeat the performanceunmasked, before Stephen would believe in its authenticity. Fired bythe success of their efforts, combs were then produced, and, swathed inpaper, turned into wind instruments of wondrous amenability. Surprisingeffect of a duet upon combs! Again, when towards the end of the weekthe repertoire gave out, and "What shall we sing next?" to fail of ananswer, Pixie revived another old "Knock" accomplishment, which wasneither more nor less than impromptu recitatives and choruses. A bassrecitative by Pat, on the theme--"_And she went--to find some mat-ches. And there--were--none... Tum-Tum_!" led the way to the liveliest ofchoruses, in which, goaded by outstretched fingers and flashing eyes, Stephen was forced to take his part. "_There were none!--there werenone_!" piped Pixie in the treble. "_And she went--and she went_!"rumbled Pat in the bass. "_Matches! Matches_!" fell from Stephen'slips, on a repeated high tenor note. Through ever-increasingintricacies and elaborations ran the chorus, until at last at a signalfrom the soprano it approached its close, the three singers proclaimedin unison that "_there--were--none_!" and promptly fell back in theirseats in paroxysms of laughter. In the course of the last twenty years, had he laughed as much as he had done within the last wonderful week?Stephen asked himself the question as he walked home the night after thesinging of the "Matches" chorus, and there was little hesitation aboutthe answer. 

A week, ten days of unshadowed happiness and companionship, and then acloud arose. Pat was not _well_; he grew worse; he grew seriously ill. The knee itself had done all that was expected of it, but the firstattempt at walking, to which the poor fellow had looked forward as to afestival, proved in reality a painful and depressing experience. Backin his bed, limp with pain and exhaustion, poor Pat realised his ownweakness with a poignancy of disappointment. He had expected to be ableto walk at once, though not perhaps for any length of time, and thesefew stumbling steps had been a bitter revelation. All these weeks ofconfinement and suffering, and now a long and dragging convalescence!Pat's heart swelled with bitterness and rebellion. Despite the presenceof Pixie and the constant visits of his friend, he was sick, sick todeath of the one small room, and the monotonous indoor life, and as ayoung man successfully started in a young business, he longed withardour to get back to his work. 

The world looked very black to Pat O'Shaughnessy for the rest of thatday, and atmospheric conditions did not help to cheer him. It wasraining, a slow, relentless rain, and in the air for days past had beena rawness, a chill which crept to the very bone. Pixie drew thecurtains over every chink, and hung a shawl over the end of Pat's bed tostill further screen him from draughts, but Pat was not in the mood tobe coddled, and had that shawl whisked to the ground before one couldsay Jack Robinson. He was curt and silent in his manner, and--rare andsignificant sign!--partook of a fragmentary tea. Nothing was right;everything was wrong; his patience was exhausted, and though he remainedstudiously polite to his friend, with his sister he unrestrainedly "lethimself go. "

"Don't wriggle, Pixie! ... Don't shout!--Don't tell us that story allover again. ... Don't lean against my bed. ... Don't sit between meand the fire!" so on it went all through the afternoon, which as a rulewas so cheery and peaceful, and if Pixie preserved a placid composure, Stephen Glynn was far from following her example. He relapsed into afrigid silence, which added but another element to the generaldiscomfort. 

The final stroke came when Pixie lifted the despised shawl and attemptedto wrap it round Pat's shoulders, and was rudely repulsed, and told tomind her own business and not be a fool. Then, with his air of _grandseigneur_, Stephen Glynn rose from his chair and made his adieux. Coldas crystal was his manner as he extended his hand to the invalid on hisbed, and Pixie followed him on to the little landing, apologetic andmiserable. 

"You are going so soon? If you could stay and talk hard it might diverthim from himself. He _needs_ diverting!"

"I cannot, " Stephen declared. "It's beyond me. After all you havedone--after all your care, to speak to you so rudely!--"

He had passed through the front door of the flat, and Pixie stood withinthe threshold, her hand clasping the handle of the door, her face, tiredand strained, raised to his own. 

"He didn't!" she cried quickly. "Oh, he didn't. It wasn't Pat whospoke--it was the pain, the pain, and the tiredness and thedisappointment. They force out the words. Haven't you found thatyourself? But his heart doesn't mean them. He's all raw and hurting, and I worried him. ... I shouldn't have done it! You must be angrywith me, not with Pat. "

Stephen gave her a long, strange look. 

"I think I--" he began, and stopped short suddenly. 

"What?" queried Pixie, and there was a long pause. 

"I--don't know!" he answered dreamily then, and without a word offarewell turned away and descended the steps. 

But he did know. In the moment in which he had stood facing her whileshe pled her brother's cause, the secret of his own heart was revealed. Never under any circumstances could he be angry with PixieO'Shaughnessy. He loved her; she was for him the one woman in theworld; with all the stored-up love of his empty life he loved her, andlonged for her for his own. That was the reason of his happiness duringthe past days, of the extraordinary new zest and interest in life whichhad filled his mind; of his content in Pixie's contentment, his anxietyfor her anxiety, his furious resentment when she was abused. And heloved her. He loved her when she lapsed into her Irish brogue, and said"Me dear"; he loved her when she assumed Frenchified airs, struckattitudes, and cried "_Ma foi_!" he loved her when she was sad, when shewas glad, when she was youthful and mischievous, when she was seriousand old, when she walked beside him in the street in the hat with thecurling feather, when she sat on the hearthrug in her rose-hued dresscrooning songs in her soft, sweet voice. Always, and always, he lovedher; she had crept into his heart like a ray of sunshine lighting upunused rooms; she had melted his coldness, as the south wind melts thefrost. He loved Pixie, and Pixie was going to marry Stanor Vaughan... 

Stephen Glynn stepped shuddering into the clammy street, and away up onthe fifth floor landing Pixie still stood motionless, holding the handleof that open door, repeating to herself dreamily that he would comeback, he must come back! He had never said good-bye!

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

COMPLICATIONS. 

On the following afternoon Stephen Glynn failed to pay his daily visitto the flat. After the revelation of the night before he had neitherthe strength nor the courage to encounter Pixie anew. Little use toshut the stable door after the steed had flown, but he must at leasthave time to think, to face the future, and decide upon his own course. And then at seven o'clock came the ring of the telephone, and Pixie'svoice speaking piteously in his ear--

"Is it you? You yourself? Oh, why didn't you come? I was waiting foryou. I wanted you. Pat's ill! He's ill, and he won't let me send forthe doctor. Oh, do come round!"

"I'm coming!" Stephen said, and hung up the receiver. Pixie wantedhim, that settled the matter. In half an hour's time his car stoppedbefore the entrance to the flat, and the chauffeur was bidden to waitfor further orders, while his master mounted the long flights of steps. 

Pixie was seated beside the fire, and the glance of her eyes spoke of awarning which he was quick to understand. Pat was not to suspect thathis friend had been summoned on his behalf. He turned towards the bed, and said lightly--

"Sorry to be late, old man. How goes it? Tried the walking again?"

"This morning. Yes. But--" Pat shrugged wearily--"not since. Got ahead--"

Stephen looked at him critically. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks, shortened breath, all the danger signals to the fore. 

"Bit feverish, old man, that's the trouble! Exerting yourself too muchperhaps. Good thing I didn't come to tire you further. Get that doctorfellow to give you something to cool you down, and give you a goodnight's rest, and the little cherub will wake up bright as a button. "

"Shan't!" Pat cried. "No more doctors! Sick of the sight of doctors!What have doctors done for _me_? Chained here all these weeks, andworse at the end! I can look after myself. "

"Taken your temperature by any chance?"

"What's the good? Don't _you_ start worrying, Glynn! I've had enoughof it from Pixie. I'm not going to be worried with temperatures. "

"Don't behave like a child, O'Shaughnessy. No one wants to worry youwith doctors if it can be helped. I don't wonder you are tired of them, but you can't run risks. Take your temperature like a sensible fellow, and if it's under a hundred, I'll leave you in peace. Otherwise I godownstairs this minute and telephone for Braithey. Where's thethermometer, Miss O'Shaughnessy? Now then, in with it!"

Pat scowled, but submitted. The glass tube was held between set lips, and a silence ensued which Stephen made no effort to break. Pixiewaited expectantly for him to join her, but he kept his position by thebed, without so much as turning his head in her direction. And uponentering he had avoided her glance, had dropped her hand after the mostperfunctory, clasp, and last night he had gone away without even sayinggood-night. ... She had offended him: certainly she must have offendedhim, Pixie told herself, though _how_ she was unable to think. Shestared into the fire, feeling tired, and sad, and discouraged. 

"Three minutes. Yes, that's enough. Let me see! I'm getting quiteclever with these puzzling things. Ye-es!" With a deft jerk of hiswrist Stephen shook the thermometer, and returned it to it's case. "Slightly up! No escape for it, Pat. Braithey must come!"

"I won't see him. I won't see him if he comes! Look here, Glynn, it'smy affair! Leave me alone, there's a good fellow! I can look aftermyself... "

Stephen walked steadily to the door. 

"I'll take good care you don't. That's enough, Patrick, don't wasteyour strength! I'm going downstairs to telephone, and if Braithey's athome my car shall bring him round. It's waiting outside. "

He disappeared, and the storm burst over Pixie's head, but she bore itmeekly, with a kind of stunned acceptance. _Everything_ seemed goingwrong! The sunny harmony of the last ten days had suddenly changed togloom. Pixie's thoughts made a lightning review of those differentdays. How perfectly, incredibly happy they had been! Until this momentshe had not fully realised their perfection. 

"Ah, now, Pat, stop! Don't worry, boy! It's not my head! ... Waittill to-morrow and you'll be better than ever, and think of the troubleit'll give you to apologise. ... It's because we _care_!"

"Wish to goodness you didn't then, " cried the impenitent one. Howeverhe might wish to apologise to-morrow, he was in no mood to beginto-night, but the pain in his head was so acute that by sheer exhaustionhe was forced into silence. 

Stephen did not return as had been expected after sending his telephonemessage. He preferred, it appeared, to go on the car, and personallybring back the doctor, and half an hour later the two men entered theroom together. Then ensued the usual tapping and sounding, the enforcedreiteration of "Ah-ah!" the feeling of the pulse, the ignominiouspresentation of the tongue. Pat went through the performance with theair of a martyr at the stake, sank back against the pillow when it wasover, and hunched himself beneath the clothes. 

"That's right! That's right! Lie still and rest. We'll soon have youall right again. Have a little nap if you can, while I give MissO'Shaughnessy my instructions in the er--er--"

Doctor Braithey reminded himself in time that there _was_ no secondsitting-room, and concluded grandiloquently--"in the hall!"

They went out into the tiny passage, and Stephen and Pixie waited forthe verdict. 

"Well! The right lung is touched. He has taken a chill. Now we mustsee what we can do to prevent it from going farther. "

He cast an inquiring glance at Pixie. 

"D'you know anything about poulticing?"

"Yes, everything! I've helped my sister with her children, and Ibrought the things... "

"That's well! Poultice him then, a fresh one every two hours. Here!You understand, in this position, " he tapped himself in illustration. "I'll send in medicines, and we'll see how he is to-morrow morning. Ifhe is no better you'll need help. We'll see about that when I call. "

A few more words and he was gone, racing down the long stairway, whileStephen lingered behind with an air of uncertainty. 

"I--suppose I can be of no use! Pat ought to be quiet, and I'm no handat poulticing. You are sure you can manage alone?"

Pixie nodded, struggling with a lump in her throat. _Why_ wouldn't hestay? Why did he so obviously not _want_ to stay?

"I can. It will be all right. Moffatt will help me. "

"And to-morrow ... To-morrow you must get a nurse!"

"No!" cried Pixie with sudden energy, "I will not. I'll have nostranger. I'll have Bridgie. " Her heart swelled at the sound of thebeloved name; she felt a helpless longing to cast herself on thatfaithful breast. "Bridgie must come. There's no room for a nurse inthis tiny place. Bridgie could share my room. "

"We'll telegraph for her, " Glynn said. "I will come round afterbreakfast, and if Pat is not quite himself, I'll telegraph at once. Shecould be with you by tea-time. "

He was kind and considerate. He was thoughtful for her comfort, readyto help by deed as well as word. Pixie could not explain to herselfwherein lay the want, but the reality of it gnawed at her heart, anddarkened still further the hours of that long, anxious night. 

Despite poultices, despite medicine, there was no doubt even to Pixie'sinexperienced eyes that Pat was worse the next morning. His breathingwas heavier, he was hotter, more restless. Without waiting for Stephenshe sent the little maid to telephone to the doctor, and through thesame medium dispatched a summoning wire to Bridgie in her northern home. 

The succeeding hours were filled with a nightmare-like struggle againstodds which palpably increased with every hour. Stephen came in and out, turned himself into a messenger to obtain everything that was needed, sent round a hamper of cooked dainties which would provide the smallhousehold for days to come, drove to the station to meet Bridgie andbring her to the flat, and oh! the joy, the relief, the blessedconsciousness of help, which came to nurse and patient alike at thesight of that sweet, fair face! In one minute Bridgie had shed her hatand coat, in the second moment she was scorching herself by the fire, toremove all trace of chill before she approached the bedside, in thethird she was sitting beside it--calm, sweet, capable, with the air ofhaving been there since the beginning of time, and intending to stayuntil the end. 

For the next few days Pat had a sharp struggle for his life. Pneumoniaclutched him in its grip, and the sound of his painful breathing washeard all over the little flat. There was a dreadful night when hopewas well-nigh extinguished, when Stephen Glynn and the two sistersseemed to wrestle with the very angel of death, and Pat himself to facethe end. "Shall I--die?" he gasped, and Bridgie's answering smileseemed to hold an angelic sweetness. 

"I hope not, dear lad. There's so much work for you to do down here, but if you do--it's going home! Mother's there, and the Major! They'llwelcome you!"

But Pat was young, and the love of life was strong within him. He hadloved his parents, but still more at that moment he loved the thought ofhis work. He fought for his life, and the fight was hard. 

Into most lives there comes at times such a night as this; a night ofdark, illimitable hours, a night when the world and all its concernswithdraws itself to unmeasurable distance, and the division between lifeand the eternal grows thin and faint. _Would Pat live to see themorning_? That was the question which to his sisters overwhelmed everyother thought. Afterwards, looking back, Pixie could recall certainincidents registered by the sub-conscious self. Being gently forcedinto a chair; being fed with cups of something hot and nourishing, placed suddenly in her hands by Stephen Glynn, always by Stephen, whoseemed by his actions to regard her as a secondary invalid, to be tendedwith tenderest care. Once, becoming suddenly conscious of his presence, as she stood in the kitchen preparing some necessary for the sick man, agrowing fear burst into words, and she asked him pitifully--_how_pitifully she herself could never know--

"Was it _my fault_? Was there _anything_ I could have done?"

"No, dear, " he said simply. "It is not your fault. "

Pixie was certain that he had said "dear. " The rhythm of it remained inher ears, that, and the deep gentleness of his tone. He had been sorryfor her, _so_ sorry! And he was so much older, and he was Stanor'suncle. Why should he not say "dear?"

Short and sharp was the attack, but by God's mercy the crisis passed, and brought relief. Weak as a child, but peaceful and quiet, Pat slept, and took his first steps back towards life. 

At last the danger was over, and Pat's natural vigour of constitutionmade the convalescence unusually quick, but even when he wascomparatively well again, Bridgie refused in an altogether amazing andunprecedented manner to return to her beloved home. She suggested notonce, but many times in succession, that Pixie should return in herplace to take the head of the household, but here Pat grew obstinate inhis turn. 

No! Pixie had had all the dull work of nursing; he was not going toallow her to return until she had had some fun. And when he began to goout for walks, pray, who was going to accompany him, if Pixie went away?"You'd be off after her, the moment you saw me on my feet. Don't denyit, for I know better!" Pat declared, and Bridgie blushed, and did notdeny it. Already she was pining for Dick and the children; alreadycounting the hours to her return, _but_... 

Movement was evidently in the air; perhaps it was caused by the bright, spring days which had replaced the former gloom. Pat on his beddiscussed a possible holiday before returning to work. "It might hurrythings, " he said. "What do you say, Pixie, seaside or country? Must gosomewhere where there's something to _do_! Winter garden, concerts, bands, people to look at. I want to be amused. We'll have a weeksomewhere, and blow expense. You might come too, Glynn, and bring thecar. "

Glynn was sitting in his usual place beside the fire; Bridgie was by thebed; Pixie prone on the hearthrug. During the last few days the invalidhad been sufficiently strong to enjoy the society of his fellows, hadeven called upon Pixie to sing, and had apparently greatly enjoyed thehearing, though Bridgie seemed for once unappreciative, and haddiscouraged further efforts. Now his mind had turned on to holidays, and he had made this direct appeal to Stephen, which seemed to findscant favour from two out of the three hearers. 

Bridgie frowned, and stared at the carpet; Stephen's pale face showed adiscomfited flush. 

"You shall have the car with pleasure. It shall take you wherever youdecide to go, and be at your service for as long as you please, but formyself, I must get home. I--I am not usually in town for so long at atime. There are several things waiting attention which should not bedelayed. I must get back... "

There was a dead silence, while each one of the three hearers realisedthe futility of the excuse. Stephen's estate was in the hands of acapable agent: an extra week's absence could make little difference;moreover, previous statements had made it plain that he had originallyintended to stay for some considerable time in town. Plain, therefore, as print, and impossible to misunderstand was the fact that he did not_want_ to accompany his friends on their holiday; that in addition hedid not for the moment desire more of their company in town. 

Bridgie raised her head: she was smiling, a bright, unaffected, _relieved-looking_ smile. 

"There's no end to the work on a big estate. The Major--my father--usedto say that every man was his own best bailiff, though he made a finemuddle of it himself, poor darling! But my brother Jack agrees withhim. He's educated Miles to look after the Irish property, and so doesGeoffrey Hilliard. ... It's true he is away half his time--"

At the best of times Bridgie was scarcely a special pleader, and to-dayshe seemed no sooner to make a statement than she contradicted itstraight away. She mumbled vaguely, and relapsed into silence. 

"Of course we won't take your car. You will need it for your businessexcursions!" Pat said icily. "We are very much indebted to you forletting us have the use of it here. It's been of great service, hasn'tit, Pixie?"

"It has! I don't know what we'd have done without it. We _are_grateful, " agreed Pixie warmly. Her voice out of all the four was theonly one which rang true; her eyes smiled across the room withunembarrassed friendliness. Nevertheless Bridgie, looking on, felt acramp of pain. How much older Pixie had grown in appearance! The linesof strain and repression over which she had sighed more than once beforenow had surely deepened during the last weeks! Anxiety, no doubt, thestrain of nursing--Bridgie comforted herself as best she might, but noexplanation could take away the pang which the mother heart feels at thesight of pain on a young face!

"Come, Pixie, " she said, rising, "we'll make tea! I promised Pat potatocakes as soon as the doctor allowed them, and that's to-day. We'll havea feast!--"

"Leave them to themselves, " she said confidingly to Pixie when thekitchen was reached. "They'll shake down better without us. Pat'sfractious; he always was from a child when he was crossed, but thepotato cakes will soothe him. I'm sorry for Mr Glynn. Really, youknow, dear, Pat's _exacting_!"

"'Deed he is. It's no wonder he is tired of it. " Bridgie needed noexplanation as to the significance of that second he. "He's beenfussing about us for weeks, and now he'll go home and rest. It's a goodthing! Will I mash the potatoes for you, Bridgie?"

"Thank you, darling, " said Bridgie humbly, but her face remainedtroubled. Once more, and with all her heart, she wished that Pixie weresafe at home. 

The rumble of men's voices could be heard from the kitchen--an amicablerumble it appeared to be, though with mysterious breaks from time totime. Bridgie bustled in, tea-tray in hand, in the middle of one ofthese breaks, and surprised a look of sadness on each face. She decidedthat Stephen was to depart forthwith, but such was not the case, sinceover tea he alluded to an old promise to take Pixie to the Temple, andincluded Bridgie in an invitation for the following Sunday. 

"And then I must be off--on Monday--or--or perhaps on Tuesday, " he saidvaguely. "One day next week. "

"I leave on Monday too, " said Bridgie, and ate her potato cake withrecovered zest. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

HE LOVES YOU. 

That evening Pat showed early signs of fatigue, and requested Bridgie tosettle him for the night, bidding the while so marked a farewell toPixie that she had no alternative but to retire forthwith to her ownroom. Truth to tell she was not sorry, for sleep had been an uncertainquantity of late, and the prospect of a long undisturbed night wasagreeable. She dallied over her undressing, and when Bridgie joined herhalf an hour later, sat perched upon the bed, dressing-gowned, her handsclasped round her knees, watching with admiring eyes the picture of hersweet-faced sister seated before the dressing-table engaged in brushingout her long fair hair. 

"You've a fine head of hair, me dear! It's wearing well. ... D'youremember the day you and Esmeralda had the trick played on you aboutgoing to bed, and sat up half the night brushing and combing to tire outthe other?"

"I do so, " answered Bridgie, but it was but a faint smile which she gaveto the memory of that youthful joke. She parted her hair with a sweepof the brush, and gazing at her sister between the long gold strandssaid suddenly, and earnestly, "Pixie!"

"Me dear?"

"There's something I want to say. ... To-morrow Mr Glynn will be here. Pat's asked him to come back after church. He is going away on Monday, so it will be the last time. Be _careful_, darling! Think what you'reabout. You don't want to be unkind--"

Pixie stared--a stunned, incredulous stare. 

"Unkind! To _him_! Are you raving? What am I to be careful about?"

"Oh--oh--_everything_!" Bridgie's breath came in a gasp ofhelplessness. It had been difficult to speak, but a sense of duty haddriven her on, and now it was too late to stop. "Don't--don't talk tohim so much. Don't look at him. " (Did Pixie realise how instinctivelyher eyes sought Stephen's for sympathy and appreciation?) "Don't sit bythe fire and sing. "

A flush spread over Pixie's cheek; her eyes widened. 

"_Why_? Doesn't he like it? Isn't it _nice_?"

"Oh-oh, _Pixie_!" cried Bridgie helplessly. A vision rose before her ofa little figure in a rose-coloured gown, of the firelight playing on theupturned face. She heard again, the deep crooning notes which filledthe room with sweetness. To herself, a sister, the picture was full ofcharm--what must it be to a lonely man, in love for the first time inthirty-five years? She rose from her chair and came across to the bed:face to face, within the stretch of an arm, the sisters waited insilence, while the clock on the mantelpiece ticked out a long minute. "Pixie, " whispered Bridgie breathlessly, "_don't you know_?"

"What?"

"Don't you know, Pixie, that he loves you?"

"Who loves me?"

"Stephen Glynn. Oh, Pixie, didn't you see?"

The colour faded from Pixie's face; she threw out her hand as if to wardoff a threatened danger. There was a note almost of anger in herreply--

"It's not true; it's not! It couldn't be true. ... He care for me!For Me! You're mad, Bridgie! You're dreaming! There's nothing... "

"Oh, Pixie, there _is_! I saw it the first evening. I'd have spokenbefore, but Pat was so ill. Then I tried--you know how. I tried!--tosend you away. I knew that every day was making it harder for him, moredifficult to forget. I was so _sorry_ for him! Pixie, he isthirty-five, and has suffered so much. It's hard on a man when he getsto that age, and--"

"_Don't_!" cried Pixie sharply. She thrust out her hand once more, andcowered as if from a blow. "Bridgie, I can't bear it! Don't tortureme, Bridgie. ... It _isn't_ true! You are making it up. Ah, Bridgie, it's because you love me yourself that you think every one must do thesame! He's--Stanor's uncle ... Pat's friend--he was just kind likeother friends. ... He never said a word ... Looked a look. " Suddenly, unexpectedly the blood flared in her face as memory took her back to thehour when she stood at the door of the flat and watched Stephen's abruptdescent down the flagged stairway. "Oh, Bridgie, are ye sure? Are ye_sure_? How are ye sure? It's so easy to be deceived! Bridgie, you'veno _right_ to say it if you are not sure. I don't believe you! Nothingcould make me believe unless he said--"

"Pixie, he has said!" The words fell from Bridgie's lips as though inopposition to her judgment she were compelled to speak them. "Pat washurt that he was going; he reproached him to-night after we left; theyhad a discussion about it, and he said Stephen Glynn said that hedaren't stay, he daren't see more of you. ... Pat does not think hemeant to say it, it just--said itself! And afterwards he set his lips, and put on his haughty air, and turned the conversation, and Pat darednot say another word. But he had said enough. ... His face! ... Hisvoice! ... Pat did not believe he could feel so much. He caresdesperately, Pixie. "

Pixie sat motionless--so silent, so motionless, that not a breath seemedto stir her being. Bridgie waited, her face full of motherlytenderness, but the silence was so long, so intense, that by degrees thetenderness changed into anxiety. It was unlike emotional Pixie to faceany crisis of life in silence; the necessity to express herself had everbeen her leading characteristic, so that lack of expression was of allthings the most startling, in her sister's estimation. She stretchedout her hand, and laid it on the bowed shoulder with a firm, strengthening touch. 

"Pixie! Look up! Speak to me! What are you thinking, dear?"

Pixie raised her face, a set face, which to the watching eyes seemedapiece with the former silence. There seemed _no_ expression on it; itwas a lifeless mask which had been swept of expression. As the blankeyes looked into her own and the lips mechanically moved, Bridgie hadthe sensation of facing a stranger in the place of the beloved littlesister. 

"I am honoured!" said Pixie flatly. "I am honoured!"

She rose slowly from the bed, moving stiffly as though the mere physicaleffort were a strain, and passing by Bridgie's inviting arms walked overto the dressing-table and began to loosen her own hair. 

"You have finished, Bridgie? I'm not in your way?" she asked quietly, and Bridgie faltered a weak "No!" and felt that the world was coming toan end. 

Pixie silent; Pixie dignified; Pixie quietly but unmistakably holdingher sister and guardian at arm's length, this was an experiencepetrifying in its unexpectedness! She had not spoken on the impulse ofa moment; for days past she had been nerving herself to open Pixie'seyes. At the bottom of her heart had lain a dawning hope that such anopening might not be in vain, for Pixie had never really loved StanorVaughan. At the time of their engagement she had not even understoodwhat love meant; during the years of their separation there had beennothing but an occasional letter to preserve his image in her mind, andwhen the allotted two years were over, Stanor himself had voluntarilyextended his exile. Bridgie set her lips as she recalled a fact sohurtful to her sister's dignity. She heard again Pat's voice, echoingthe sentiments of her own heart. "Tell her, Bridgie! She ought toknow. He's worth a thousand of that other fellow. Don't let her throwaway the substance for the shadow. "

So she had spoken, and a new Pixie--a Pixie she had never even imaginedin dreams--had listened, and made her reply. "I am honoured!" she hadsaid, and straightway, sweetly, courteously, irrevocably, had closed thesubject. 

Bridgie bent her head and plaited her hair in the two long ropes whichmade her nightly coiffure. She was thankful of the employment, thankfulof an excuse to hide her face; she listened to the ticking of the clockupon the mantelpiece and asked herself what she should do next. Theincredible had come to pass, and she, Bridgie, sister, guardian, marriedwoman, mother of a family, was nervous in Pixie's presence! Not for anybribe that could have been offered would she have ventured to hint atthat hope which she and Pat had shared in common. 

Suddenly through the little flat rang the sound of the postman's knock. The last of the many deliveries of the day had arrived, and Bridgiepeeping out of the door spied a couple of white envelopes prone on themat. She crept out to get them, thankful of the diversion, and wasoverjoyed to behold on one her husband's writing. 

"One for me, Pixie, and one for you--an enclosure forwarded from home. I'm so glad to get mine. It's nice for the postmen in London to haveSundays free, but we country people _do_ miss letters, " she said glibly, as she handed Pixie her share of the spoil, and seated herself in theone comfortable chair which the room afforded, to enjoy to the full thewelcome message from home. 

Perhaps Dick had divined the double anxiety which was burdening hiswife, perhaps he realised how long she would feel a Sunday without news, perhaps out of his own loneliness had arisen a need for words--in anycase, that special letter was the longest and, to Bridgie's heart, thedearest which she had received since her departure from home. He toldher of the children, and of their latest sayings; he told her of himselfand his work; he comforted her, where she needed comfort, cheered her, where she needed cheer, called her by the sweet love names which shemost loved to hear, and held before her eyes the prospect of a swiftreturn. And Bridgie reading that letter thanked God for the thousandthtime, because on her--undeserving--had been bestowed the greatest giftwhich a woman can receive--the gift of a faithful love!

Ten minutes had passed before she had read and re-read her preciousletter, but when she turned her head it was to find Pixie standing inthe same position as that in which she had seen her last, gazing downupon a sheet of paper on which a few short lines were written in amasculine writing. At Bridgie's movement she raised her head, and spokein a curiously low, level voice--

"It is from Stanor. He has sailed for home. Honor Ward and a party offriends were crossing, and he decided at the last moment to come withthem. We shall see him on Thursday next. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

STANOR COMES BACK. 

It was Thursday morning. With the doctor's permission Pat's bed hadbeen carried back to the minute apartment which was grandiloquentlytermed a "dressing-room. " A sofa took its place in the dining-room, andwith the aid of a stick he could walk from one refuge to another, andenjoy what--after the confinement of the past months--appeared quite anexciting variety of scene. 

Bridgie Victor was still a joint occupant of the "best" bedroom, forsince Pat refused to part with Pixie it was plainly the elder sister'sduty to stay on over the important meeting with Stanor Vaughan. Themodern girl scoffs at the idea of chaperonage, but the O'Shaughnessyswere not modern. Bridgie felt the impulse to protect, and Pixie'spiteous "_Stay_ with me, Bridgie!" marked the one moment of weaknesswhich she had shown. So Bridgie remained in London, comforted by theknowledge that her husband was well and her children in good hands, andseldom in her life had five days passed so slowly. Sunday itself hadseemed a week long, the atmosphere strained and unreal, each member ofthe little party talking to pass the time, uttering platitudes, anddiscussing every imaginable subject under the sun but just the one whichfilled every mind. No need to bid Pixie to be discreet, to warn her notto sing, nor glance too frequently in a certain direction--a talkingautomaton could not have shown less sign of feeling. 

As for Stephen Glynn, the news of his nephew's sudden return obviouslycame to him as a shock, but as a man of the world he was an adept inhiding his feelings, and though he curtailed his visit, so long as hewas in the flat he exerted himself to preserve an ordinary demeanour. His adieux also were of the most commonplace description. 

"It's hardly worth while to say good-bye. We shall meet, we shallcertainly meet before long. I will write to welcome Stanor, and you--"he held Pixie's hand and looked down at her with an inquiringglance--"you will let me hear your--news?"

"I will, " answered Pixie simply. 

Bridgie would have given a fortune to be able to see what was in "thechild's" head at that moment, to know what she was really thinking. Thesisters walked together to the door, Pat, on his stick, bringing up therear, and stood watching Stephen descend. Once and again he looked up, smiled, and waved his hand, and as he did so his eyes had the samepiteous glance which Pixie had noticed on their first meeting. Theexpression of those upturned eyes hurt all three onlookers in differentdegrees, and sent them back to their little room with downcast looks. 

"Now he'll bury himself in the country again and mope! It's been themaking of him being here in town. Goodness knows what will happen tohim now!" said Pat, dropping on to the couch with an impatient sigh, andBridgie murmured softly--

"The dear, man! The dear man! So hard for, him to be alone. But youneedn't be anxious, Pat. He's so _good_. He'll be looked after! ... Don't you think, now, his eyes are the least thing in the world likeDick's?"

"Not the least least!" snapped Pixie, and that was her one contributionto the conversation. 

And now it was Thursday--Thursday afternoon, within an hour, of the timefixed by telegram for Stanor's arrival. Pat had elected to stay in bed, in consequence of what he called headache and his sisters translated as"sulks. " He didn't want to see the fellow. ... What was the fellow tohim? Didn't know how the fellow had the face to turn up at all, afterdawdling away an extra six months. Hoped to goodness the fellow wouldmake short work of it and be off, as he wanted to get up for dinner. 

In her heart Bridgie agreed with each sentiment in turn, but she felt ither duty to be stern and bracing. 

"'Deed, and I hope so, too! Else I shall have to sit here, and you'renot the best company. I'm your guest, me dear--if you haven't the heartto be civil ye might at least have the good manners! My little Jackwould never dr-eam--"

"Little prig he must be, then, " mumbled Pat; but the reproof went home, and he grumbled no more. 

Just before the clock struck the hour Bridgie paid a flying visit to thelittle sitting-room to see that the tea-table was set, the kettle on thehob, the dish of hot scones on the brass stand in the fender, andeverything ready to hand, so that no one need enter unless speciallysummoned. She found Pixie standing gazing into the fire, and startedwith surprise and disappointment. 

"_Pixie_, your dress! That dull old thing? Why not your pink? Medear, you've time. ... There's still time. ... Run off and change it!"

But Pixie shook her head. 

"Bridgie, _don't fuss_!" she said, and there was a note in her voicewhich checked the words on Bridgie's lips. She literally dared not sayany more, but her heart was heavy with disappointment. 

She had been so anxious that Pixie should look her best for thisimportant interview, had been so complacently satisfied that therose-coloured gown was as becoming as it could be, and now theaggravating, mysterious little thing had deliberately left it hanging inthe wardrobe, and put on instead an old brown dress which had been afailure at the beginning, and was now well advanced in middle age. Oneresult of Pixie's sojourn in Paris had been an acquired faculty formaking the best of herself: she put on her clothes with care, she worethem "with an air, " she dressed her hair with neat precision, and thenwith a finger and thumb gave a tweak here, a pat there, which impartedto the final effect something piquant and attractive. To-day itappeared as if that transforming touch had been forgotten, and Bridgie, looking on, felt that pang of distress which all motherly heartsexperience when their nurslings show otherwise than at their best. 

"Are you not going to sit with Pat?" inquired Pixie at the end of apregnant silence, and at that very obvious hint Bridgie retiredperforce, repeating gallantly to herself, "Looks don't matter! Looksdon't matter! They don't matter a bit!" and believing just as much ofwhat she said as would any other young woman of her age. 

Another ten minutes and the sound of the electric bell rang sharplyround the flat. The door opened and shut, and Moffatt, entering thesitting-room in advance, announced loudly--

"Mr Vaughan!"

A tall, fair man entered with a rapid step. Pixie looked at him, andfelt a consciousness of unutterable strangeness. This was not the manfrom whom she had parted on the deck of that ocean-bound steamer! Thisman was older, broader; the once lazy, laughter-loving eyes were keenand shrewd. His shoulders also were padded into the exaggerated square, characteristic of American tailors. 

"Well--Pixie!"

Even the voice was strange. It had absorbed the American accent, theAmerican clip and drawl. Pixie had the consciousness of struggling withstiffened features which refused to smile. 

"Well--Stanor!"

He took her hand and held it in his, the while he stared down at herupturned face. His brows contracted, as though what he saw was morepainful than pleasant. "I guess you've been having a bad time, " hesaid. "I was sorry to hear your brother's been sick. "

"He is better now, " Pixie said, and gently withdrew her hand. 

_Two and a half years' waiting, and this was the meeting_! She drewherself up, with the little air of dignity which she knew so well how toassume, and waved him to a seat. 

"Won't you sit down? I will give you some tea. It is all ready, andthe kettle is boiling. When did you arrive in town?"

"Two hours ago. I went straight to my hotel to write some letters, andthen came along here. ... This is your brother's apartment? Nicelittle place! It's good news that he is better! Hard luck on him to bebowled over like that!"

The accent, the intonation carried Pixie's thoughts irresistibly towardsanother speaker, whose memory war associated with her own first meetingwith Stanor. On the spur of the moment she mentioned her name. 

"Where is Honor Ward? Is she in London, too?"

Stanor started; over his features passed a quiver as of anxiety ordread. He glanced across the fireplace, and the new keenness in hiseyes became still more marked. 

"Er--no! She stopped half way. Later on ... Perhaps--"

"She is quite well?"

Again a moment's hesitation. 

"Fairly well, only ... Very tired. "

"I don't wonder she is tired; she does so much. Always rushing aboutafter something new. They seem very restless people in America. "

"They're alive, anyway; they don't rust! They're bound to get the mostthat's possible out of life, and they get it! It shakes a fellow up toget out of the rut here and have a taste of their methods. "

"You like it--better than _home_?" Pixie paused, teapot in hand, tocast upon him a glance full of patriotic reproach, whereat he laughedand shrugged his shoulders. 

"Isn't home the place where one settles down, and which feels to be mostcongenial?"

"You find America more congenial than England?"

He shrugged again, and the old gleam of laughter showed in his eyes. 

"Now look here, isn't it bad luck to begin asking embarrassing questionsstraight away off? I hoped I was going to avoid this point! If youmust have the truth--I _do_! America suits me!"--his smile was full ofcomplacence--"I suit America. That's not by any means a sure thing. Many Englishmen throw up the sponge and return home. They can't adaptthemselves, don't _want_ to adapt themselves. In my case I had had nobusiness experience in England, so I began with an open mind withoutprejudice, and--it _went_: I like the life, I like the people. I likethe climate. The climate is answerable for a lot of the extra energywhich you over here call `restlessness. ' You want to do just abouttwice as much beneath those skies!" He cast an impatient glance towardsthe window. "It's all so _grey_! ... I've had a headache straight onthe last two days. "

"Tea's ready now; it will do you good. There are hot scones in thatdish, " Pixie said quietly. The greyness of the street seemed to haveentered the room--to have entered her heart. It was _all_ grey. ... "We knew, of course, that you _must_ like it, when you stayed so long. "

Now there was something which was _not grey_. Stanor's face flushed apainful red; he looked at his cup, at the floor, in the fire, atanything but in Pixie's face. His voice was hard with repressedembarrassment. 

"Er--just so; you would, of course! There was work on hand. I waitedto see it through. When a man has spent two years in the same place somany claims arise, in social life as well as in work. It is difficultfor him to break away at a moment's notice. He is hardly his ownmaster. "

"I'm sure it is. And when there was work you were quite right to stayon. It would have been wrong to have left it unfinished. "

Stanor, looked up sharply, met clear, honest eyes, which looked backinto his without a trace of sarcasm. She _meant_ it! Voice and lookalike were transparently genuine. At that moment she was essentiallythe Pixie of old, the Pixie to whom it came naturally to believe thebest. The flush on Stanor's cheeks deepened as he realised the natureof the "work" which had made his excuse. His voice deepened with thefirst real note of intimacy. 

"That's like you, Pixie! You always understood. ... And now tell meabout yourself. What's happened to you since I heard last? Six monthsago, was it? No! barely four. Didn't you write for Christmas? Beenjogging along as usual at home, playing games with the babies?"

"Yes; just jogging, " said Pixie. Then of a sudden her eyes flashed. "`Over here' we don't find the `best of life' in a _rush_! It comes tosome of us quite satisfactorily in a jog! `I guess, ' as you say, thatmy life as been as much `worth while' as if I'd spent it in a round ofpink luncheons and green teas, as your American friends seem to do. "

The unexpected happened, and, instead of protesting, Stanor sighed, andlooked of a sudden grave and depressed. 

"You're right there, Pixie; that's so, if you are built the right way!But some of us--" He checked himself, and began afresh in a voice ofenforced enthusiasm. "Well!--and then you came up here to nurse yourbrother, and found the Runkle already in possession. I _was_ surprisedto read about that in your letter at Liverpool. Odd, isn't it, howthings come about? And how _is_ the old fellow?"

Again Pixie's eyes sent out a flash. How was it that every fresh thingthat Stanor said seemed to hurt her in a new place?

"Considering his great years and infirmities, the old fellow seemssurprisingly well. "

"Halloo, what's this?" Stanor stared in surprise. "Said the wrongthing, have I? What have I said? He seems old, you know, if he isn'tactually so in years. I used to look upon him as a patriarch. Not somuch his looks as his character. Such a sombre old beggar!"

"He wasn't sombre with _us_!"

Memory flashed back pictures of Stephen's face as he sat in thearm-chair by the fire, listening to those impromptu concerts which hadenlivened Pat's convalescence. Pixie saw him as he leaned forward inhis chair, waving his hand baton-like, heard his voice, joining lustilyin the "Matches" chorus. In that very room--in the very chair in whichStanor now sat. ... What centuries seemed to have lolled by, betweenthat day, and this!

"Wasn't he? That's good! I'm glad to hear that, " Stanor saidperfunctorily. "It takes time, of course, to get out of invalid ways. I shall have to be running down to see him one of these days. "

"Oh, of course; he'll expect you. And then--then you'll begin your workover here. In London, I suppose?"

"I ... Er ... The firm is in town. There--er--there will be a lot toarrange. " Suddenly Stanor leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hiseyes searching her face. "Pixie, this is an odd sort of conversationfor our first meeting! ... We've got wrong somehow. ... Can't we getright? Why waste time on generalities. ... Are you _glad_ to see meback, Pixie?"

"I am!" Pixie's eyes gazed back without a flicker. "When I got yourletter I was--thankful! I think it was--time--you came back. "

"Have you missed me, Pixie, while, I've been away?"

Now she hesitated, but her eyes remained steady and candid. 

"It had been such a little time, you know; and you had never stayed withus at home. I could hardly _miss_ you out of my life, but I ... _thought_ of you!"

"Did you, Pixie? Did you, little Pixie? ... I wonder _what_ youthought!"

Pixie did not answer that question. The answer would have been toolong, too complicated. She smiled, a wistful little smile, and turnedaway her head. 

Then Stanor rose. She heard him rise, heard the chink of the tea-thingson the tray as he pressed upon it in rising, heard his footsteps passinground the table towards her chair, heard in a sickening silence hissummoning voice--

"Pixie!"

"Stanor!"

They looked at each other;--white, strained, tense. 

"Pixie, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Stanor, I will. If you want me... "

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

"WHAT HAVE I DONE?"

There was a moment's silence, a moment which seemed like an hour. ThenStanor spoke--

"Thank you, Pixie!"

He put his arms round her, made as if to kiss her cheek, but the smallhands held him off with unexpected strength. 

"Not yet! Not yet! You haven't answered my question!"

"What question?"

"_If you want me_?" The grey eyes were very near his own. They seemedto search into his very soul. "_Do_ you want me, Stanor?"

"Pixie, what a question! You ... You _know_ the answer. "

"I think I do. " She nodded her head with a grave certainty. "I'm sureI do. ... You _don't_ want me, Stanor!"

He started at that, and his hands relaxed their hold. The dull redflush mounted once more to his forehead, his lips twitched, and twitchedagain. The man was suffering, and the marks of his pain were plain toread. 

"Why ... Should you say that? Pixie, what is it? I explained aboutthat extra six months. ... You said you understood. It was part of theagreement that we were not to write except on occasions. Were myletters wrong? Didn't they please you? I was never a good hand atletter-writing. Was that it? What was it? What have I done, Pixie, tomake you doubt me?"

"I don't think, " said Pixie dreamily, "you have done anything. " Itseemed for a moment as if she had nothing more to say, then suddenly sheasked another question: "Stanor! That day in Liverpool, on thelanding-stage, did you notice a girl standing near me--a girl with a furcap?"

"No, Pixie. I noticed only one girl--yourself!"

"She was parting from a man--her lover or husband--who was leaning overthe rail and looking down at her. Stanor ... They ... _cared_! Theyloved each other. ... All these years I have had their faces in myheart. I looked at them, and I looked at you, and I understood thedifference!"

"I was miserable enough, Pixie. All men do not show their feelings inthe same way. "

"I knew you were sorry. I was sorry, too. ... I'm not blaming you. I've no right to blame you. I have waited for you, and you've comeback. You have asked me to marry you. Stanor!" She clasped his armswith her hands, her eyes intently gazing into his. "I'll tell you thetruth about myself. --I was a child when you went away. I didn't knowhow to love. Now I do! If you love me, Stanor, with your whole heartand soul, more than any one in the world, more than _anything_ in theworld, then marry me, dear, and I'll make you happy! If you don't ... If there is any doubt in your mind, if there is some one else who hasgrown nearer to you while you've been away--I shouldn't be angry, Stanor, only, " her voice shook, a quiver passed over the upturned face, "please tell me _now_! Be honest! It's for all our lives, remember.... We've no right to spoil our lives. God gave them to us; we'reresponsible to Him. _It will_ spoil them, Stanor, if there's not real, real love between us. Now tell me ... Look in my eyes and tell me, Stanor ... _do_ you want me?"

But he could not face her. He wrenched himself free of her grasp, turned towards the mantelpiece, and with a groan buried his face in hishands. 

"Pixie, you ... You shame me ... You cover me with shame! I ought tohave known that I could not deceive you. ... You are not the sort to bedeceived. ... It's worse than you think. ... When the temptation came, I could have kept out of the way ... She wanted me to keep away, but Iwouldn't do it. I followed her wherever she went--I--you'd better knowthe whole truth, and then you'll understand the kind of fellow I am. It's not my fault that I wasn't married months ago, that you didn't readit in the papers without a word of preparation! That's what I wanted... What I proposed. It was she who refused. It is her doing that I_am_ here to-day. She would have nothing to say to me till I had askedyou first. --I wanted to stay on in America, settle down there, and keepout of the way--"

He had spoken with his face hidden; now, as he finished speaking, heremained in the same position, and not a sound came to his ears but theticking of the clock in the corner. He might have been alone in theroom; a miserable conviction seized him that he _was_ alone, thatbetween himself and the girl by his side there had arisen animpenetrable wall. 

As for Pixie she had promised not to be angry, but it appeared to her atthat moment that she had never before known what anger meant. It burnedwithin her--a flame of indignation and wounded faith, a throwing back onherself of all the arduous mental battles of the last few days. Never, even to herself, had Pixie acknowledged that she had learned to loveStephen Glynn. That it hurt her to know of his love for her; hurtintolerably to see him depart, were truths which could not be ignored, but while Stanor lived and was faithful it was impossible even tocontemplate love for another man. Pixie had enough knowledge of her ownnature to realise that she could be happy in giving Stanor a happinesswhich he could only gain through her. It was as natural to her to behappy as for a flower to lift its face in the sun, but for both the sunwas needed. A more introspective soul would have realised that therewere degrees in happiness, and that she would be missing the best; Pixiewith characteristic simplicity accepted what seemed to her the rightstep, and shut her mind against vain regrets. 

But--Stanor did not want her. He was _not_ faithful. He had had solittle consideration for her feelings that he would have let her read ofhis marriage in a public print. He had appeared now only at the commandof another. 

"I think, " said Pixie deeply, "you are a cowardly man. I am sorry forthe girl you are going to marry. She seems to have a conscience, but itwould have been kinder of her if she had made you tell me the truthwithout first trying to spoil my life. I suppose you _would_ havemarried me if I had said `yes, ' or was it only a form which you neverintended to keep?"

"You are hard on me, Pixie, but I deserve it. I have no excuses tomake. My only comfort is that I have not ruined your happiness. Likeyou, I have learnt my lesson, and I can see one thing clearly: You don'tlove me, Pixie!"

"No, I don't love you, but I have kept myself for you. I have closed myheart to every other thought. I _would_ have loved you if you hadneeded me. Nothing, nothing in the world could have made me deceiveyou!"

"I knew it! We both knew it! Honor said--"

"_Honor_!" Pixie's cry rang sharp. "Is it Honor? Honor Ward?"Somehow the knowledge seemed an additional hurt; she sat down on a chairand clasped her cold hands. The brain flashed back memories ofoccasions dating back to the very beginning of Stanor's life in America, when his name and Honor's had been coupled together. "Honor Ward andI. " "Stanor Vaughan and I. " ... Memories of an earlier occasion stillwhen Honor had said with _empressement_. "You can trust me, Pixie!"Even then, had she foreseen what might happen--even then, with herknowledge of her own character and Stanor's, seen danger ahead? Well, Honor _had_ been loyal! From Stanor's manner, even more than his words, it was obvious that had there been no impediment in the way as regardsher own wishes, yet she had refused him, had sent him home to keep histroth. After that first sharp moment Pixie had no coldness in her hearttowards Honor Ward. 

Stanor was talking, moving restlessly to and fro, telling the story ofthe past years in jerky, disconnected sentences, blaming himself, exonerating Honor. The sound of his words penetrated to Pixie's brain, but not the sense. It seemed to her useless to listen; there wasnothing more to be said. 

Suddenly she rose from her seat with an air of decision. 

"I think you had better go. Bridgie, my sister--Mrs Victor--is here. I would rather you didn't see her. She will be angry; they will all beangry. They are fond of me, you see; and they will think I have beenhumiliated. I am _not_ humiliated! No one can humiliate me but myself;but just at first they won't be reasonable. ... Will you please go?"

"Pixie, don't think about me ... Think of yourself! I will leave it toyou to tell your own story. --I have asked you to marry me, and you haverefused. ... Tell them that ... Tell them that _you_ refused, that itwas _your_ doing, not mine--"

The glance of the grey eyes gave him a hot tingling of shame. 

"You don't understand, " said Pixie softly. "I am _proud_ of being thefaithful one! You don't understand... " She laid her hand on the door, but Stanor stopped her with another question--

"And--Honor? What shall I say to Honor? She thinks so much of you. She'll do nothing without your consent. Some day when she comes toLondon ... Will you ... See her, Pixie?"

Pixie shook her head. 

"It would hurt us both, and do no good. Give her my love. As for you--I can't give her what is not mine. ... You belong to _her_, so there'snothing more to be said. ... I hope you will make her happy. "

"I will--I will! At this moment I seem to you an unmitigated scoundrel, but things will be different. ... We shall settle in America. I willhelp her with her work. We'll work together. I'd give my life for her... I _will_ give it! I'll make amends... " He stood still, waiting asif there were still more to be said. "My uncle will be angry, but it ishis doing. If it had not been for him, we should have been marriedyears ago. He shouldn't blame me for what he has brought about. His isthe blame. If I see him--_when_ I see him--can I say anything fromyou?"

"Tell him, " said Pixie clearly, "that I am grateful to him. _His is thepraise_!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

HONOR'S LETTER. 

Bridgie _was_ angry. It was rarely indeed that her placid nature wasroused to wrath, but she did the thing thoroughly when she was about it. In a flow of eloquence, worthy of Esmeralda herself, she revivedincidents in Pixie's life, dating from babyhood onwards, to prove to thechairs and tables, and any odd pieces of furniture which might happen tobe listening, the blameless and beautiful character of the maid who hadeven been spurned ("spurned" was the word used) by a recreant unworthythe name of scoundrel. She dived into the past, and pictured thefeelings of those past and gone; she projected herself into the future, and bequeathed a Corsican legacy of revenge. She lavished blame onJoan, Geoffrey, herself, Jack and Sylvia, Pat and Miles, even thebeloved Dick himself, and refused to hear a word in Honor's defence. The only person who came unscathed through the ordeal was Stephen Glynn, whom, it would appear, had absorbed in himself the wisdom which everyone else had so shamefully lacked. 

When Bridgie ended Pat began. The news had had an unexpected effect, inrousing the invalid and restoring him to a feeling of health morepowerfully than a hundred tonics could have done. For the first timefor weeks past he forgot himself and his woes, and behold a new man, with a strength and vitality astounding to witness. Pat announced hisintention of sallying forth and thrashing the beggar forthwith; he dealtbitterly with the squeamishness of the English law with regard to duels, declared in the same breath that he could never have believed in thepossibility of such behaviour, and that he had prophesied it from thefirst. He adjured Pixie repeatedly, and with unction, to "Buck up!" andwhen the poor girl protested valiantly that she _was_ bucking, immediately adjured her to be honest, for pity's sake, and "let herselfgo!"

An ordinary person would have found such a form of comfort far fromsoothing, but Pixie was an O'Shaughnessy herself, and it _did_ sootheher. She understood that Bridgie and Pat were relieving themselves bysaying all that they felt, _more_ than they felt, and that presently thestorm would pass and the sun shine again. By to-morrow all bitternesswould have passed. She sat in her chair and submitted meekly to belectured and cajoled, wrapped in a shawl, provided with a footstool, ordered to bed, supplied with smelling-salts, and even--tentatively--with sal-volatile, but she made no attempt to still the storm. She knewthat it would be useless!

Finally Pat stumped off to his bedroom, to draft a rough copy of aletter intended to be the most scathing communication which had everpassed through the post; and Bridgie, very white and shaken, seatedherself on a chair by her sister's side. 

"Pixie, dear--I'm afraid we've not been helpful. ... I lost my head, but it was such a shock. --I flew into a passion without hearing what youhad to say for yourself. ... Darling, tell me--tell me honestly--_howdo you feel_?"

"I feel--" Pixie raised both hands, and moved them up and down above hershoulders, as though balancing a heavy load--"as though a great tonweight had been rolled off my shoulders. ... Bridgie! You are angry; Iwas angry too, but now I've had time to think. ... There have been twoand a half years since he went away--that's about nine hundred days. ... Bridgie! If you only knew it--there's not been one day out of all thatnine hundred when you hadn't more cause to pity me than you haveto-day!--"

Suddenly, passionately, she burst into tears. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later Bridgie Victor returned home. The need for chaperonagewas over, and it was abundantly evident that Pixie was in no need ofconsolation. The first shock of disillusionment over, it waspre-eminently relief that she felt--relief from a bond which had weighedmore and more heavily as time passed by. If Stanor had come home, looking his old self, caring for her, depending on her as he had doneduring the days of their brief engagement, she would have been ready andwilling to give him her life, but it had been a strange man who hadentered the sitting-room of the little flat, a man with a strange face, and a strange voice, and a heart that belonged to another girl. Pixiewas _free_; the bonds which had bound her were loosed, and with eachhour that passed her liberty became more sweet. She shared in hersister's relief that the understanding with Stanor had been known to noone outside the family, for no human girl enjoys being pitied for suchan experience, and Pixie had her own full share of conceit. It wascomforting to know that there would be no talk, no fuss; that she couldgo her way, free from the consciousness of watching eyes. 

On the morning of Bridgie's departure two letters arrived by the firstpost, and were read in silence by their respective owners. Bridgie'swas in a man's handwriting, and the perusal of its lines brought a flushto her cheeks and the glimmer of tears to her eyes. She put it in herpocket when she had finished reading, and remained densely oblivious ofher sister's hints. 

"What does he say?"

"Who?"

"Mr Glynn, of course. Don't pretend! I know his writing. "

"He's very ... Very--I don't know exactly _what_ he is, Pixie. He is aswe all were at first--upset!"

"What does he say?"

"Oh, er--er--the usual things. Sorry. Ashamed. It's so difficult forhim, because, of course, in a certain sense it _is_ his doing. ... Naturally, he feels--"

"What does he say?"

"Pixie, _don't_ go on repeating that! It's stupid. I've _told_ you!And there's a message for you. He thanks you for _your_ message, (Ididn't know you had sent one!) and says it was `like you. ' What did yousay?"

But Pixie did not enlighten her. 

"I think he ought to have written to me!" she said decisively. "Afterall, Bridgie, it is my business, not yours. I thought he _would_write. "

Bridgie had the grace to blush. 

"But just at first, dear, it is difficult. --He feels it so much. It'seasier to a third person. Later on, in a few months' time, when thingshave settled down, he wants to come north to see us. It will be easierthen... "

"Oh!" Pixie seemed of a sudden as eager to avoid the subject as she hadbeen to continue it. She handed her own letter across the table with ashort "From Honor! You may read it, " and thereby protected herselfagainst the scrutiny of Bridgie's eyes. 

The sheet was covered with a large, straggling handwriting, and Pixie, reading it, had seemed to hear Honor's very voice speaking to her. 

 "My dear Patricia, --I guess you may not want to hear from me, but I'm bound to write, and maybe I can say a few things that will help us both. You're feeling pretty badly at the moment. But I want you just to realise that I've been feeling that way for a good year back, and to try to see both sides. 

 "It began, Patricia, through our both feeling lone and lorn and trying to comfort each other. You'll recollect you _asked_ me to be good to him! Things went on all right for a spell, but before we knew where we were that friendship had got to be too important to us both. There wasn't a thought of disloyalty in it, Patricia, on his part or mine, and the very first time I had an inkling of what was happening I went off west for a tour of four months. I presume it was too late by that time, for when I went home (I was bound to go home!) matters didn't seem to have mended. After a while we had it out--it was bound to come some time--and I told Stanor straight he'd either got to make a clean breast of things to you or never see me again. Up till then, I guess, we'd behaved as well as any two youngsters could have been expected to do under the circumstances, but after that things went to pieces. He _wouldn't_ tell, and he _couldn't_ keep away! I'm not defending Stanor. He's shown up pretty badly over this business. He's been weak, and obstinate, and dishonourable. I don't delude myself a mite, but, you see, Pixie, I love him! It's the real thing with both of us this time, and that makes a mighty difference. I can see his faults and feel sorry about them, but it don't make me love him any the less; and if all my money were to pan out to-morrow he'd be sorry, but he'd love me just the same. So there it was, Pixie--and a wearing time I've had of it, fighting against his wishes--and my own! In the end I decided to join some friends and come over to Europe, and leave him to think things over by himself. Maybe I guessed he'd follow and be forced to meet you. It's difficult to understand one's own motives at these times. Anyway, before I knew where I was he'd taken a berth in the same boat, and--here we are!

 "Stanor says you have grown-up, and look different. You are both different after these years apart, and, anyway, it was a mistake from the beginning, Patricia, and wouldn't have worked out. Now, _we_ suit each other, and the life we are going to lead will bring out the best in us both! He seems to you pretty contemptible at this moment, but there's so many sides to one human creature, and that is only one side. He's got lots of others that are good and true--

 "Yesterday I had an ordeal. I was introduced to the `Runkle. ' Why didn't I know he was like that? He was quite courteous--he couldn't be anything else. But his eyes, (what eyes!) made arches at me, as if to say, `He prefers _her_!' and I felt frozen stiff. Now I shan't rest satisfied till that man's my friend, but it will take time--

 "Pixie, we're going to be married quite soon--as soon as ever we can fix up the necessary formalities, spend a honeymoon in Switzerland, and get back to our work. I don't ask to see you--just at the moment it would do no good, but couldn't you just manage to send me a line to melt this stone in my heart? I'd be so happy if it wasn't there. But it won't melt till I hear from you, that you understand, and you forgive!

 "Lovingly, --Honor. "

Bridgie read and sighed, folded the sheet carefully, and sighed again. 

"It's so _difficult_, "--she began. 

"What is difficult?"

"To be as angry with people as you would like!" replied Bridgieunexpectedly. "You start by thinking that all the right is on your ownside, and all the wrong on theirs, and that you're a martyr and they arebrutes, and that your case is proven and there's not a word that couldbe said in their defence; and then of a sudden--" she lifted the letterin her hand--"you get _this_! And they _have_ a side, and they are notbrutes; and instead of being angry you have to be--you are forced intobeing--sorry instead! It does feel hard! I didn't _want_ to be sorryfor Honor Ward... "

"I'm not sorry for her, " said Pixie softly, "I'm glad. She's going tobe happy. ... Bridgie, dear, what can I send her, for a weddingpresent?"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

PIXIE FINDS HER HAPPINESS. 

As soon as Pat had sufficiently recovered, he and Pixie travelled toIreland to spend a few weeks in the old homestead, now blooming in freshbeauty under the management of Jack O'Shaughnessy and Sylvia his wife. The great hall which had been of old so bare and desolate was nowembellished with Turkey carpets and tapestried walls: so far as the eyecould reach there was not one shabby, nor broken, nor patched-uparticle; in sight; the damp and fusty odour which had filled the greatdrawing-room, and which for years had been associated with Stateapartments in Pixie's youthful mind, was a thing of the past. Even inthe chilliest weather the room remained warm, for electric radiators, cunningly hidden from sight, dispelled the damp, and were kept turned onnight and day, "whether they were needed, or whether they were not, " tothe delight and admiration of the Irish staff. For pure extravagance, for pure pagan delight in extravagance, the Irishman _and_ woman arehard to beat. The very warmth and generosity of their nature makes itabhorrent to them to stint in any direction, which is one reason, out ofmany, for the prevailing poverty of the land. 

Jack and Sylvia made delightful hosts, and it was a very happy and avery merry quartette which passed those spring days together in KnockCastle. They were complete in themselves, and any suggestion of "aparty" was instantly vetoed by the visitors, who announced their desireto remain "just as we are. "

Sylvia and Pixie rode or drove about the country, pulling up every halfmile or so to chat with cottagers, who were all eager to see Miss Pixie, to invoke blessings on her head, and--begging her honour's pardon!--tosigh a sigh for the memory of the times that were no more. 

On frequent occasions this same curious, and to English-bred Sylvia, inexplicable regret for the days of old was manifested by the dwellerson the country-side. "_What did they want_?" she asked herselfimpatiently. "What could they wish for that had not already been done?"Repaired cottages, improved sanitation, higher wages, perquisiteswithout number--since the new reign all these things had been bestowedupon these ungratefuls, and still they dared to regret the past!

Sylvia had not yet grasped the fact that her birth and upbringing made achasm between herself and her tenants which no kindness could span. They would burn her peat, waste her food, accept, and more or less wasteagain, all that she chose to bestow, but given a choice between thepresent days of plenty and the lean, bare years of the reign of thejovial "Major" and his brood, they would enthusiastically have acclaimedthe latter's return. 

Occasionally something of the same spirit would manifest itself in theO'Shaughnessys themselves, as when Jack's voice would take on anapologetic tone in telling his brother of some improvement in theestate, or Pixie gazing at the old Persian carpet in the dining-roomwould sigh regretfully, "There _used_ to be a hole!" On such occasionsSylvia was sometimes forced to depart on a visit to the nursery andrelieve her feelings by a stamp _en route_. When she returned Jack'stwinkling eyes would search her face, and he would take an earlyopportunity of passing her chair and touching her with a caressing hand, and once more all would be peace and joy. 

Jack and his wife heard from Pat's lips all details as to Stanor Vaughanand his approaching marriage, but to Pixie herself the subject was nevermentioned. 

"Anyway, she's not fretting!" said Jack. "Never saw her brighter andhappier. Bless her big, little heart! I'm thankful the fellow hastaken himself out of her way. She'd never have given him up of her ownaccord. We've all been so happy in our marriages that we can't standany second-bests for Pixie! When are _you_ going to settle down, oldchap?"

"Oh, about next June year, " replied Pat calmly. "Always said I wouldabout twenty-eight. Nice time of year, too, for a honeymoon!"

"But ... But... " Jack stammered in surprise. "Have you met the girl?"

"My good man! Dozens! There's no difficulty there. Faith, I love themall!" sighed handsome Pat. 

Well, it was a happy holiday, but there was no sadness when it came toan end, for Pat was ready and eager to get back to work, and Pixie tothe northern town which meant Bridgie and home. Brother and sisterparted with mutual protestations of gratitude and appreciation, and withseveral quite substantial castles in the air as regards future meetings, and within a few days both had settled down to the routine of ordinarylife. 

"Pixie is just the same. All this business has not altered her at all, "Captain Victor said to his wife, and Bridgie smiled at him, the samesort of loving, indulgent smile which she bestowed on her small son whenhe guilelessly betrayed his ignorance. 

_She_ knew that Pixie _had_ altered, felt the alteration every day ofher life, in a subtle, indefinite manner which had escaped the masculineobservation. There was a certain expression which in quiet moments hadbeen wont to settle on the young face, an expression of repression andstrain, which now appeared to have departed for good, a certain reservein touching upon any subject connected with love and marriage, which wasnow replaced by eager interest and sympathy. Gradually, also, as themonths rolled on there came moments when a very radiance of happinessshone out of the grey eyes, and trilled in the musical voice. The timeof Stephen Glynn's visit was drawing near; another week, and he wouldactually arrive. What would be the result of that visit? Bridgie couldnot tell. In a matter so important she dared not take any definiterole, but in her prayers that week she implored the Divine Father tosend to the dearly loved little sister that which He in His wisdom knewto be _best_. 

And then, as usual, Pixie did the unexpected thing. The sisters weresitting together at tea the day before Stephen was expected, whensuddenly she looked across the room, and said as quietly and naturallyas if she had been asking the time--

"Do ye think now, Bridgie, that he will ask me to marry him?"

Bridgie started. Up to her cheeks flew the red. It was she who wasembarrassed, she who stammered and crumbled the hem of the tablecloth. 

"My dear, I don't know! How should I? How can I possibly know?"

"I didn't ask you if you knew. I asked if you _thought_. "

"I--don't know what to think. ... I know what he _wants_! But he is sosensitive, so humble about himself. He thinks he is too old, and ... And his lameness--he exaggerates things all round. From what he said tome in that letter--"

"That letter you wouldn't show me?"

"Yes. I couldn't, Pixie! It was in confidence, and besides, he saidnothing _definite_. It was only inferred. It's just because heidealises you so much that he thinks he is not worthy. No one can tellwhat a man will do when it comes to the time, but what he _means_ to dois evidently--to say nothing!"

"Oh!" said Pixie. She nibbled a fragment of cake for a thoughtfulmoment, and then said calmly--

"So now I know. Thank you, Bridgie. _Please_ don't say any more!"

"No, darling, no, I won't; only please just one thing--it has puzzled meso much, and I have longed to know. ... There's never been any reservebetween us--you have confided in me so openly all your life till justthese last years. _Why_ didn't you tell me you were unhappy aboutStanor?"

"How could I, me dear, when I might be his wife? It wouldn't have beenloyal. And it wasn't unhappiness exactly, only--a weight. I was_trying_ to keep on loving him, and hating myself for finding itdifficult, but I knew if he came back loving me, and wanting me to helphim, the weight would go. But you see, he didn't!"

"Pixie, dear, one should not need to _try_. That sort of love ought tofeel no strain. "

"If Stanor had needed me, I should have married him, " Pixie saidobstinately, "but he didn't, and, me dear, excuse me! It's not the mostagreeable subject. ... Let's talk of something else. "

The next day Stephen Glynn arrived, and put up at an hotel. Anagricultural show which was being held in the town made an excuse forhis visit; it also made a vantage ground for daily excursions, and gaveopportunities of securing _tete-a-tete_ to those anxious to do so. Pixie was conscious that several such opportunities had in Stephen'scase been of intent ignored and allowed to pass by, but never once didshe doubt the motive which prompted such neglect. From the moment oftheir meeting the consciousness of his love had enveloped her. He mightset a seal on his lips, but he could not control his eyes, and thewistfulness of that glance made Pixie brave. 

Almost the first opportunity for undisturbed conversation came on theafternoon of the third day, when Stephen paid an unexpected call at thehouse to propose an expedition for the evening, and found Pixie alone. 

She was sitting writing in the pretty, flower-decked room, where theFrench window opened wide to the garden beyond. It was only a mite of agarden, not big enough for even a tennis-court, but so much love andingenuity had been lavished on its arrangement that it had anastonishing air of space. The flower-covered trellis at the end had anair of being there because it chose, and not in the least because itmarked an arbitrary division of land. The one big tree made an oasis ofshade, and had a low circular seat round its trunk, and the flowersbloomed in grateful recognition of favours bestowed. 

There are points in which the small garden has a pull over the large. Its owner can, for instance, remember just how many blooms a specialplant afforded last summer, and feel a glow of pride in the extra two ofthe present season; she can water them herself, tie up their droopingheads, snip off the dead flowers, know them, and love them in anintimate, personal way which is impossible in the large, professionally-run gardens. Bridgie's garden this summer afternoon madea very charming background for the figure of Pixie in her white dress, with the jaunty blue band round her waist, and a little knot to matchfastening her muslin Peter Pan collar. She looked very young and freshand dainty, and the wistful expression deepened on Stephen's face as helooked at her. 

For the first few minutes conversation was difficult, for theconsciousness of being alone seemed rather to close the way to personalsubjects than to open it. Stephen was grave and distrait, Pixieembarrassed and nervous, but the real deep sympathy between them made itimpossible that such an atmosphere should continue. Before ten minuteshad passed Pixie's laugh had sounded with the characteristic gurglewhich was the very embodiment of merriment, and Stephen was perforcelaughing in response. He had never been able to resist Pixie's laugh. Tea was brought in, and the young hostess did the honours with a prettyhospitality. It was the first meal of which they had partaken _a deux_, and its homely intimacy brought back the wistful look into Stephen'seyes. Perhaps Pixie noticed it, perhaps a point had been reached whenshe felt it impossible to go on talking generalities; in any case, shelaid down her cup, straightened herself in her chair with an air ofpreparing for something big and momentous, and announced clearly--

"I had a letter this morning from Honor Vaughan. "

Stephen Glynn started, and his face hardened. The subject was evidentlyunwelcome to the point of pain. 

"She writes to _you_?"

"I write to her! Of course she answers. I was always fond of Honor. "

"Possibly. Before her marriage. As Stanor's wife, however--"

Pixie bent forward, looking him full in the face. 

"I have no quarrel with Stanor's wife. I was angry with _him_. Therewas something in me which he hurt very much. --I think, " she slightlyshrugged her shoulder, and a flicker of a smile passed over her face, and was gone, "'twas my pride! It hurt to think he had been _forced_ tocome back. If he'd trusted me and told the truth it would have savedsuffering for us--all! At the time I felt I could never forgive him, but that passed. I don't say I can ever think of him as I did before, as quite honest and true, but--" The smile flashed back. "Can _you_ goon being angry, yourself?"

"I--don't think, " said Stephen slowly, "that `angry' is the right word. I'm disappointed--disappointed with a bitterness which has its root inten long years of hope and effort. Practically I have lived my lifethrough that boy. My great object and desire was to secure for him allthat I had missed. I had made no definite promises, it seemed wisernot, but in effect he was my heir, and all I have would have gone tohim. Now that's over! The future has been taken from me, as well asthe past. America has absorbed him. He has already, through his wife, more money than he can use, and the role of an English country gentlemanhas lost its attractions for him. There was a time in my first outburstof indignation when I should have felt it a relief to have had somepower of retaliation, but, as you say, that passed. ... He was the onlyperson whom I could in any sense claim as my own, and--I've lost him!He is independent of me now. I can do no more for him. " The dark eyeswere full of pain. "That is, after all, the thing that hurts the most. The lad has faults, but I loved him. I lived through him; now I can dono more, and our lives fall apart. There's a big blank!"

Pixie did not answer. Her face was very pale; in her ears was a loudthudding noise, which seemed mysteriously to be inside her own breast. 

"As for his wife, she may be a good girl--she appears to have behaved inan honourable fashion--but to me it's a new type, and I can't pretendthat I'm not prejudiced. There is only one thing that is satisfactory. The boy is honestly in love, even to the extent of abandoning his careerto assist in the management of a pickle factory. "

There was an inflection in the tone in which these last words werepronounced which brought Pixie's eyes upon him in reproach. 

"They are very _good_ pickles! I can't see that making them is any lessdignified than `bulling' and `bearing' cotton--whatever that may mean!--Stanor used to write of it in his letters. Honor's father loved hisworkmen, and made her promise to go on looking after them as he haddone. She doesn't need any more money; it would be easier for her toretire and hand over the factory to some one else. It's for the men'ssake that she keeps it on, and to keep her promise to her father. MrGlynn, you _must_ love Honor. She's good, and true, and honourable, andshe's--Stanor's wife!"

"How could he? How could he?" Stephen rose impetuously, and beganpacing up and down, a rare excitement growing in voice and manner. "When he could have had _You_! ... Good? Yes! She may be good--I'mnot denying the girl's good points. She has behaved well. She has herattractions--Stanor evidently thinks her beautiful--but--_he might havehad You_! ... He has chosen this girl with her ordinary attractions, instead of _your_ sweetness, _your_ sunshine, _your_ generosity, _your_kindness! Your voice, Pixie; your eyes ... Your _love_! He was soblind ... So deaf. ... The substance was his, and for a shadow--a poor, faint shadow--"

Pixie had risen in her turn. Red as a rose she stood before him, withshrinking eyes, but hands held out in sweet, courageous invitation. 

"If ye think so much of me as all that, " said the deep voicebreathlessly, "_wouldn't ye like me for yourself_?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ten minutes later the miracle, the wonder, was as marvellous as ever: asincredible to the man whose life was suddenly irradiated with sunshine. 

"Pixie! Pixie!" he cried. "My youth! ... Will you give it back to me, sweetheart--the youth that I lost?"

"Beloved!" said Pixie, and her voice was as the swell of a deep organnote. "It was not lost. It's been waiting for you--" she touched herheart with an eloquent gesture--"here!"

THE END.