Chapter Eight.A Surprise Visit.The next two days Jack came home early from the city, where a remarkable cessation of work had happened simultaneously with the arrival of Miss Sylvia Trevor at Number Three, Rutland Road. Bridgie trotted about the house preparing for the festival on Thursday, and Sylvia lay idly upon the couch, with nothing better to do than to listen, sympathise, and admire.It was easy to listen, for in truth Jack gave her no opportunity to do anything else; it was impossible to resist admiring, for he made a handsome figure, with his broad, muscular shoulders, graceful carriage, and clean-shaven face; it had seemed at first sight as if sympathy were not required, but Master Jack invented a fresh crop of imaginary woes every time that he met a pretty girl, for the express purpose of receiving consolation. Sylvia beheld in him an exile from home and country, toiling at an uncongenial task, for the maintenance of his orphaned brothers and sisters, and was vaguely given to understand that since meeting her, his poverty had become an even more painful barrier to his hopes. He confided in her details of business, which she understood as well as a buried language, and asked her advice on knotty points in such a flattering manner that she forgot to notice that he never paused for a reply, and when at last he reluctantly rose to leave the room he sighed profoundly, and in a voice touched with emotion declared that she had helped him as he had never before been helped!“I cannot thank you enough for your sympathy and counsel, but I shall never forget what you have said to me to-day. It will help me through many a dark hour!” he declared, and Sylvia blushed and gasped, and lay back on her cushions, all tremulous with excitement. It was her first experience of the art of flirtation, and she was pleased and flattered as it was natural for a girl to be, but she was a sensible little woman, despite her hasty speeches, and her vanity was not big enough to cloud either her judgment or a remarkably accurate memory. She carefully recalled to mind the late conversation, and found that her own share therein had been limited to monosyllabic assents and denials; an occasional, “Really!” and three or four exclamations of, “How sad!”These, then, were the vaunted sympathy and counsel, these the eloquent words which Mr Jack had vowed to treasure in deathless remembrance, and which were to strengthen him in hours of trial! Sylvia blushed once more, from mortification this time, and registered a vow to adopt a new tone with this disciple of the Blarney stone, and put an end forthwith to sentimental confidences. She was still looking hot and flurried when Bridgie came into the room to prepare for tea, and to rest after the day’s labours.“You look tired, dear!” she said anxiously. “I hope Jack has not been talking too much. He just dotes upon romancing when he can get a listener, and I didn’t like to interrupt when I knew he had come home especially to see you. Jack falls in love with every fresh girl he meets, and they mostly fall in love with him too. He has such lovely humbugging eyes!”“Do they, indeed! He shan’t humbugme, that’s one thing certain!” was Sylvia’s mental comment. Aloud she assented cordially. “Most handsome eyes! I call him unusually good-looking for a man, and he has amused me very much, but I am more than ready for tea, and a little of your society. There’s the clatter of the cups. Welcome sound, it’s music in my ears! How I used to long for it when I was ill!”“I’ll draw the curtains and make the room look cosy. That is one good thing about a tiny house—you can keep it warm. We were frozen in the great draughty barns of rooms at Knock, and Pixie used to look so quaint with her feet in snow-boots, and her hands in a muff, and her little nose as red as a cherry. It was so cold that it kept her awake at nights, until the Major bought an elegant little egg-cosy at a bazaar in Dublin, and she slept in it regularly through the frost. We used to go to kiss her last thing every night, every man Jack of us, for the pleasure of seeing her lying there, so peaceful, with the cosy perched over her nose! Muffins, dear? I didn’t make them, so you may eat them with an easy mind.”Jack came downstairs at the summons of the tea-bell, looking in languishing fashion at his comforter as he entered the room, when, to his surprise, back came an answering glance, as it were parodying his own, the sentimental attitude belied by twinkling eyes and mischievous lips. The blush and tremor of an hour ago were conspicuous by their absence, and the change was by no means appreciated by the startled onlooker. In vain he tried to return to the old footing, accompanying the simplest remark with a hint of secret understanding, and waiting upon her with a deference which seemed humbly to inquire the reason of the change.Sylvia bluntly inquired, “What is it?” in reply to his appealing looks, kept him trotting to and from the tea-table, and said, “How clumsy you are!” when his fingers touched her own over the cake-basket. Even Jack O’Shaughnessy found it impossible to continue flirting under these conditions, and devoted himself to the consumption of muffins with a crestfallen air, while Bridgie regarded him with fond commiseration from behind the tea-tray.It was at this opportune moment that the clatter of wheels stopped at the door and the peal of the bell rang through the house. Sarah went to the door, and there was a movement and bustle in the hall, at the sound of which Bridgie nodded complacently.“The Parcels Delivery van! I thought something must be coming. Have you any change, Jack? I’ve nothing smaller than sixpence, and the man will want a Christmas-box—a few coppers, perhaps.”“Oh, give the poor beggar half a crown. Don’t insult him with coppers,” said Jack in his lordly way, pulling a handful of silver from his pocket and selecting the largest coin of the number. “I’ll take it to him myself. You might give him some tea if there is any left. It is perishingly cold outside!”He stepped towards the door, but before he reached it, it was opened from without, a tall figure precipitated itself into the room, and with two separate cries of rapture the sisters flew to meet each other, and stood with locked arms, kissing, laughing, and questioning, with incredulous delight.“Esmeralda darling! Is it really you? You are not a dream, dear, are you? I can’t believe it’s true!”“It was Geoff’s doing! He saw I was fretting for you, and suggested that we should come to town and stay over the New Year at an hotel. There was not time to get the house ready. A whole week, Bridgie! Won’t we talk! There are such oceans of things to tell you. Baby is beginning to speak!”“The precious mite!” Bridgie disentangled one hand and held it towards her brother-in-law in beaming welcome. “I always did say you were a broth of a boy, Geoffrey, but you have eclipsed yourself this time. I am so happy I don’t know how to bear it. Now Christmas will be something like Christmas, and—” she smiled encouragingly into Sylvia’s embarrassed face,—“we have a visitor staying with us to make things still more festive. My new friend, Miss Sylvia Trevor, who is recovering from a long illness.”Esmeralda wheeled round to face the sofa and stared at the stranger with haughty scrutiny. Her flowing skirts seemed to fill the little room; her cloak was thrown back, showing a glimpse of costly sable lining; her imperious beauty made her appear older than the gentle Bridgie, a hundred times more formidable. The formal bend of the head brought with it an acute sense of discomfiture to the recipient. For the first time since crossing that hospitable threshold she realised that she was a solitary unit, a stranger set down in the midst of an affectionate family party, and if it had not been for the crippling foot, she would have rushed away to the haven of the room upstairs. As it was, however, she was condemned to lie still and return Esmeralda’s commonplaces with what grace she might.“I am pleased to see you,” said Esmeralda’s tongue. “What a nuisance you are!” said the flash of the cold grey eyes. “Such a pleasure for Bridgie to have a friend.” “But now that I have arrived, you are not wanted any longer, and are terribly in my way!” One set of phrases were as intelligible as the other to the sensitive invalid, and if Esmeralda’s anticipations were dashed by her presence, she herself abandoned all prospect of enjoyment, and only longed to be able to return home forthwith.Bridgie would not need her companionship any longer; she could be but a restraint and kill-joy in the conferences of newly-united sisters. She stared dismally at the floor, then looked up to see Jack carrying the tea-table bodily across the room and setting it down by her couch. Sarah had brought in fresh tea and cakes for the refreshment of the travellers, and he motioned slightly towards his sisters, saying in an undertone,—“Bridgie will be incoherent for an hour. Will you come to the rescue? If we don’t look after the tea, no one else will.”He smiled at her as he spoke, not sentimentally this time, but with a straightforward kindliness which showed that he had understood and sympathised with her embarrassment. Occupation for hand and mind was the most tactful comfort which he could have administered, and Bridgie’s eager, “Oh, thank you, dear! How good of you!” showed that she was indeed thankful to be relieved of every duty but that of talking to her sister and watching her with adoring eyes.Sylvia’s post was no sinecure, for everyone started tea-drinking afresh to encourage the travellers, and amidst the babble of voices Jack’ssotto voceexplanations made the conversation intelligible, and took away the feeling of being left out in the cold. At a touch of real sympathy the false sentiment had disappeared, and her heart warmed towards the young fellow for his kindly concern for her comfort. It was a bond of union also to remember that he himself was apt to resent the incursions of this domineering young matron, and she noted with delight that, while Bridgie was apparently delighted to be trampled underfoot, he was ready and able to hold his own.“We came over in a rush, and arrived only two hours ago. I’m a disreputable object!” said Esmeralda, glancing complacently over her sweeping skirts, and arranging the immaculate frills at her throat. “Geoffrey was in such a hurry to get off that he gave me no time to make myself decent.”“She had only an hour, poor thing, not a moment longer! She sent me flying off to look for trains and whistle for a hansom, and then kept me kicking my heels while she prinked before the glass, putting on her best dress and the newest hat to impress you with her magnificence. She is disappointed that you have not noticed them yet, that’s why she pretends to be humble!” explained Geoffrey in self-defence, whereat his wife grimaced at him in a manner singularly undignified and eloquent. Then she glanced hastily across the room at Sylvia, looking so girlish, so abashed at having been discovered in her schemes, that Sylvia laughed involuntarily, and forgot the old offence.“Husbands are such blighting creatures; they are always telling the truth upon you!” sighed Esmeralda sadly. “I intend to bring up Bunting to agree with all I say, and then there will be some chance of making an impression. He is left at home, for he is too young to miss us, and it was bad weather for moving a nursery.“Now about to-morrow! We have arranged for you to spend the day with us, and have lunch and dinner in our private room. The servants can eat up your turkey, or it can wait until the next day. You must come to us directly after church. What train will you be able to catch?”Bridgie knitted her brows and looked embarrassed and distressed. The invitation could not, of course, be accepted, and it was thoughtless of Esmeralda to have given it under existing circumstances. Had not Sylvia been introduced as a convalescent, and did not her position on the couch prove that she was unable for a journey to town? It would make the poor dear so uncomfortable if she were cited as the obstacle; yet what other excuse could be made?Esmeralda had travelled all the way from Knock for the pleasure of entertaining her brothers and sisters, and would not be lightly turned from her plans. Bridgie looked across the room, and met Jack’s eyes turned upon her with a flash of indignation in their clear depths.“Well, Bridgie, you can do as you like, but I give you full notice that I stay at home!” he said firmly. “I have never yet eaten my Christmas dinner in an hotel, and I never shall so long as I have a roof of my own to cover me. Choose between Esmeralda and me; I am the head of the family, and it is my privilege to play host on such occasions, but if the house is too small—if we are not grand enough for Mrs Hilliard—”“Jack!” cried Esmeralda sharply. She pushed her cup on one side, and, springing across the room to her brother’s side, laid her hands on his shoulders and shook him vigorously to and fro. “Come down this minute from that high horse! I won’t be snubbed, when I’ve come all the way over from Ireland to see you. I thought you would like it, dear, because you enjoyed dining with us so much before, and we should have been quite private in our own room; but I don’t mind where we are, so long as we are together. We will come and dine with you if you will ask us. I would far rather have stayed here altogether if you could have put us up!”“We could stow you away, but we can’t manage the retinue. Miss Trevor occupies the north-west Tudor corridor, and there is only Pixie’s little den at liberty,” said Jack, laughing, and recovering his complacency with wonderful quickness. “The servants’ hall accommodation is also limited, and your maid and valet might not appreciate ourménage. We had a very stylish pudding the other night. You might give Esmeralda the recipe, Bridgie.”Esmeralda listened to the history of the beeswax and macaroni with a joy tempered by regret.“We never have anything so nice as that!” she sighed. “Never a bit of excitement as to how things will turn out. D’you remember the day when old Sukey mixed the lettuce with furniture cream instead of salad-dressing, and Major Denny was so polite, with a crust of bread under one end of his plate to let it drain down to the bottom, while he ate his meat high and dry at the top! ’Twas bad luck that none of us fancied lettuce that day, but kept pressing him to a second helping.”“Well, we will come here to-morrow morning, then. Don’t stay away from church, for, truthfully, I would rather you were out when we arrived. I have some rather—large—Christmas presents which must be smuggled in unobserved. I have some—er—preparations to make to-night, so we can’t stay very long.”Half an hour later husband and wife took their departure, and after seeing them off, Jack came back into the drawing-room and stood by Sylvia’s couch.“Esmeralda invariably speaks before she thinks!” he said apologetically. “There’s a lot of pretence about her, but you will be astonished to find out what a good sort she is when you know her better.”Sylvia smiled with a whimsical twist of the lips. She thought that that prediction might apply to more than one member of the O’Shaughnessy family, and cherished a pleasant conviction that Jack’s outburst of indignation had been more on her account than his own. He was not the type of man to stand on his dignity, and his quick glance into her face as Esmeralda gave her invitation had been eloquent of understanding. His protest had saved her from a most distasteful position, and once again she felt a debt of gratitude towards him.
The next two days Jack came home early from the city, where a remarkable cessation of work had happened simultaneously with the arrival of Miss Sylvia Trevor at Number Three, Rutland Road. Bridgie trotted about the house preparing for the festival on Thursday, and Sylvia lay idly upon the couch, with nothing better to do than to listen, sympathise, and admire.
It was easy to listen, for in truth Jack gave her no opportunity to do anything else; it was impossible to resist admiring, for he made a handsome figure, with his broad, muscular shoulders, graceful carriage, and clean-shaven face; it had seemed at first sight as if sympathy were not required, but Master Jack invented a fresh crop of imaginary woes every time that he met a pretty girl, for the express purpose of receiving consolation. Sylvia beheld in him an exile from home and country, toiling at an uncongenial task, for the maintenance of his orphaned brothers and sisters, and was vaguely given to understand that since meeting her, his poverty had become an even more painful barrier to his hopes. He confided in her details of business, which she understood as well as a buried language, and asked her advice on knotty points in such a flattering manner that she forgot to notice that he never paused for a reply, and when at last he reluctantly rose to leave the room he sighed profoundly, and in a voice touched with emotion declared that she had helped him as he had never before been helped!
“I cannot thank you enough for your sympathy and counsel, but I shall never forget what you have said to me to-day. It will help me through many a dark hour!” he declared, and Sylvia blushed and gasped, and lay back on her cushions, all tremulous with excitement. It was her first experience of the art of flirtation, and she was pleased and flattered as it was natural for a girl to be, but she was a sensible little woman, despite her hasty speeches, and her vanity was not big enough to cloud either her judgment or a remarkably accurate memory. She carefully recalled to mind the late conversation, and found that her own share therein had been limited to monosyllabic assents and denials; an occasional, “Really!” and three or four exclamations of, “How sad!”
These, then, were the vaunted sympathy and counsel, these the eloquent words which Mr Jack had vowed to treasure in deathless remembrance, and which were to strengthen him in hours of trial! Sylvia blushed once more, from mortification this time, and registered a vow to adopt a new tone with this disciple of the Blarney stone, and put an end forthwith to sentimental confidences. She was still looking hot and flurried when Bridgie came into the room to prepare for tea, and to rest after the day’s labours.
“You look tired, dear!” she said anxiously. “I hope Jack has not been talking too much. He just dotes upon romancing when he can get a listener, and I didn’t like to interrupt when I knew he had come home especially to see you. Jack falls in love with every fresh girl he meets, and they mostly fall in love with him too. He has such lovely humbugging eyes!”
“Do they, indeed! He shan’t humbugme, that’s one thing certain!” was Sylvia’s mental comment. Aloud she assented cordially. “Most handsome eyes! I call him unusually good-looking for a man, and he has amused me very much, but I am more than ready for tea, and a little of your society. There’s the clatter of the cups. Welcome sound, it’s music in my ears! How I used to long for it when I was ill!”
“I’ll draw the curtains and make the room look cosy. That is one good thing about a tiny house—you can keep it warm. We were frozen in the great draughty barns of rooms at Knock, and Pixie used to look so quaint with her feet in snow-boots, and her hands in a muff, and her little nose as red as a cherry. It was so cold that it kept her awake at nights, until the Major bought an elegant little egg-cosy at a bazaar in Dublin, and she slept in it regularly through the frost. We used to go to kiss her last thing every night, every man Jack of us, for the pleasure of seeing her lying there, so peaceful, with the cosy perched over her nose! Muffins, dear? I didn’t make them, so you may eat them with an easy mind.”
Jack came downstairs at the summons of the tea-bell, looking in languishing fashion at his comforter as he entered the room, when, to his surprise, back came an answering glance, as it were parodying his own, the sentimental attitude belied by twinkling eyes and mischievous lips. The blush and tremor of an hour ago were conspicuous by their absence, and the change was by no means appreciated by the startled onlooker. In vain he tried to return to the old footing, accompanying the simplest remark with a hint of secret understanding, and waiting upon her with a deference which seemed humbly to inquire the reason of the change.
Sylvia bluntly inquired, “What is it?” in reply to his appealing looks, kept him trotting to and from the tea-table, and said, “How clumsy you are!” when his fingers touched her own over the cake-basket. Even Jack O’Shaughnessy found it impossible to continue flirting under these conditions, and devoted himself to the consumption of muffins with a crestfallen air, while Bridgie regarded him with fond commiseration from behind the tea-tray.
It was at this opportune moment that the clatter of wheels stopped at the door and the peal of the bell rang through the house. Sarah went to the door, and there was a movement and bustle in the hall, at the sound of which Bridgie nodded complacently.
“The Parcels Delivery van! I thought something must be coming. Have you any change, Jack? I’ve nothing smaller than sixpence, and the man will want a Christmas-box—a few coppers, perhaps.”
“Oh, give the poor beggar half a crown. Don’t insult him with coppers,” said Jack in his lordly way, pulling a handful of silver from his pocket and selecting the largest coin of the number. “I’ll take it to him myself. You might give him some tea if there is any left. It is perishingly cold outside!”
He stepped towards the door, but before he reached it, it was opened from without, a tall figure precipitated itself into the room, and with two separate cries of rapture the sisters flew to meet each other, and stood with locked arms, kissing, laughing, and questioning, with incredulous delight.
“Esmeralda darling! Is it really you? You are not a dream, dear, are you? I can’t believe it’s true!”
“It was Geoff’s doing! He saw I was fretting for you, and suggested that we should come to town and stay over the New Year at an hotel. There was not time to get the house ready. A whole week, Bridgie! Won’t we talk! There are such oceans of things to tell you. Baby is beginning to speak!”
“The precious mite!” Bridgie disentangled one hand and held it towards her brother-in-law in beaming welcome. “I always did say you were a broth of a boy, Geoffrey, but you have eclipsed yourself this time. I am so happy I don’t know how to bear it. Now Christmas will be something like Christmas, and—” she smiled encouragingly into Sylvia’s embarrassed face,—“we have a visitor staying with us to make things still more festive. My new friend, Miss Sylvia Trevor, who is recovering from a long illness.”
Esmeralda wheeled round to face the sofa and stared at the stranger with haughty scrutiny. Her flowing skirts seemed to fill the little room; her cloak was thrown back, showing a glimpse of costly sable lining; her imperious beauty made her appear older than the gentle Bridgie, a hundred times more formidable. The formal bend of the head brought with it an acute sense of discomfiture to the recipient. For the first time since crossing that hospitable threshold she realised that she was a solitary unit, a stranger set down in the midst of an affectionate family party, and if it had not been for the crippling foot, she would have rushed away to the haven of the room upstairs. As it was, however, she was condemned to lie still and return Esmeralda’s commonplaces with what grace she might.
“I am pleased to see you,” said Esmeralda’s tongue. “What a nuisance you are!” said the flash of the cold grey eyes. “Such a pleasure for Bridgie to have a friend.” “But now that I have arrived, you are not wanted any longer, and are terribly in my way!” One set of phrases were as intelligible as the other to the sensitive invalid, and if Esmeralda’s anticipations were dashed by her presence, she herself abandoned all prospect of enjoyment, and only longed to be able to return home forthwith.
Bridgie would not need her companionship any longer; she could be but a restraint and kill-joy in the conferences of newly-united sisters. She stared dismally at the floor, then looked up to see Jack carrying the tea-table bodily across the room and setting it down by her couch. Sarah had brought in fresh tea and cakes for the refreshment of the travellers, and he motioned slightly towards his sisters, saying in an undertone,—“Bridgie will be incoherent for an hour. Will you come to the rescue? If we don’t look after the tea, no one else will.”
He smiled at her as he spoke, not sentimentally this time, but with a straightforward kindliness which showed that he had understood and sympathised with her embarrassment. Occupation for hand and mind was the most tactful comfort which he could have administered, and Bridgie’s eager, “Oh, thank you, dear! How good of you!” showed that she was indeed thankful to be relieved of every duty but that of talking to her sister and watching her with adoring eyes.
Sylvia’s post was no sinecure, for everyone started tea-drinking afresh to encourage the travellers, and amidst the babble of voices Jack’ssotto voceexplanations made the conversation intelligible, and took away the feeling of being left out in the cold. At a touch of real sympathy the false sentiment had disappeared, and her heart warmed towards the young fellow for his kindly concern for her comfort. It was a bond of union also to remember that he himself was apt to resent the incursions of this domineering young matron, and she noted with delight that, while Bridgie was apparently delighted to be trampled underfoot, he was ready and able to hold his own.
“We came over in a rush, and arrived only two hours ago. I’m a disreputable object!” said Esmeralda, glancing complacently over her sweeping skirts, and arranging the immaculate frills at her throat. “Geoffrey was in such a hurry to get off that he gave me no time to make myself decent.”
“She had only an hour, poor thing, not a moment longer! She sent me flying off to look for trains and whistle for a hansom, and then kept me kicking my heels while she prinked before the glass, putting on her best dress and the newest hat to impress you with her magnificence. She is disappointed that you have not noticed them yet, that’s why she pretends to be humble!” explained Geoffrey in self-defence, whereat his wife grimaced at him in a manner singularly undignified and eloquent. Then she glanced hastily across the room at Sylvia, looking so girlish, so abashed at having been discovered in her schemes, that Sylvia laughed involuntarily, and forgot the old offence.
“Husbands are such blighting creatures; they are always telling the truth upon you!” sighed Esmeralda sadly. “I intend to bring up Bunting to agree with all I say, and then there will be some chance of making an impression. He is left at home, for he is too young to miss us, and it was bad weather for moving a nursery.
“Now about to-morrow! We have arranged for you to spend the day with us, and have lunch and dinner in our private room. The servants can eat up your turkey, or it can wait until the next day. You must come to us directly after church. What train will you be able to catch?”
Bridgie knitted her brows and looked embarrassed and distressed. The invitation could not, of course, be accepted, and it was thoughtless of Esmeralda to have given it under existing circumstances. Had not Sylvia been introduced as a convalescent, and did not her position on the couch prove that she was unable for a journey to town? It would make the poor dear so uncomfortable if she were cited as the obstacle; yet what other excuse could be made?
Esmeralda had travelled all the way from Knock for the pleasure of entertaining her brothers and sisters, and would not be lightly turned from her plans. Bridgie looked across the room, and met Jack’s eyes turned upon her with a flash of indignation in their clear depths.
“Well, Bridgie, you can do as you like, but I give you full notice that I stay at home!” he said firmly. “I have never yet eaten my Christmas dinner in an hotel, and I never shall so long as I have a roof of my own to cover me. Choose between Esmeralda and me; I am the head of the family, and it is my privilege to play host on such occasions, but if the house is too small—if we are not grand enough for Mrs Hilliard—”
“Jack!” cried Esmeralda sharply. She pushed her cup on one side, and, springing across the room to her brother’s side, laid her hands on his shoulders and shook him vigorously to and fro. “Come down this minute from that high horse! I won’t be snubbed, when I’ve come all the way over from Ireland to see you. I thought you would like it, dear, because you enjoyed dining with us so much before, and we should have been quite private in our own room; but I don’t mind where we are, so long as we are together. We will come and dine with you if you will ask us. I would far rather have stayed here altogether if you could have put us up!”
“We could stow you away, but we can’t manage the retinue. Miss Trevor occupies the north-west Tudor corridor, and there is only Pixie’s little den at liberty,” said Jack, laughing, and recovering his complacency with wonderful quickness. “The servants’ hall accommodation is also limited, and your maid and valet might not appreciate ourménage. We had a very stylish pudding the other night. You might give Esmeralda the recipe, Bridgie.”
Esmeralda listened to the history of the beeswax and macaroni with a joy tempered by regret.
“We never have anything so nice as that!” she sighed. “Never a bit of excitement as to how things will turn out. D’you remember the day when old Sukey mixed the lettuce with furniture cream instead of salad-dressing, and Major Denny was so polite, with a crust of bread under one end of his plate to let it drain down to the bottom, while he ate his meat high and dry at the top! ’Twas bad luck that none of us fancied lettuce that day, but kept pressing him to a second helping.”
“Well, we will come here to-morrow morning, then. Don’t stay away from church, for, truthfully, I would rather you were out when we arrived. I have some rather—large—Christmas presents which must be smuggled in unobserved. I have some—er—preparations to make to-night, so we can’t stay very long.”
Half an hour later husband and wife took their departure, and after seeing them off, Jack came back into the drawing-room and stood by Sylvia’s couch.
“Esmeralda invariably speaks before she thinks!” he said apologetically. “There’s a lot of pretence about her, but you will be astonished to find out what a good sort she is when you know her better.”
Sylvia smiled with a whimsical twist of the lips. She thought that that prediction might apply to more than one member of the O’Shaughnessy family, and cherished a pleasant conviction that Jack’s outburst of indignation had been more on her account than his own. He was not the type of man to stand on his dignity, and his quick glance into her face as Esmeralda gave her invitation had been eloquent of understanding. His protest had saved her from a most distasteful position, and once again she felt a debt of gratitude towards him.
Chapter Nine.Christmas Presents.Christmas morning was heralded by the luxury of a late breakfast, when no one need hurry off to town, and even Miles could satisfy the demands of appetite without casting a thought to the time-table. Porridge, bacon, eggs and sausages laid the foundation of his meal, before he tackled marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh oranges and honey, accompanied by numerous draughts of tea and coffee, and finally by a cup filled with the united drainings of both pots, which he drank with obvious relish.If it had been merry Pat who was so difficult to appease, there would have been no cause for astonishment, but Miles’s rapt eyes and ethereal expression seemed to bespeak no stronger diet than moonbeams and mountain dew, and to hear him accompany his last mouthful with an eager “When’s lunch?” was a distinct shock to the visitor. Jack, too, had sustained a relapse into sentiment, and was only awaiting opportunity to wax melancholy and confidential. With a word of encouragement he would have stayed away from church to bear her company, but Sylvia was provokingly obtuse, and he went off looking unutterable reproaches with his “humbugging eyes.”Left to herself, Sylvia hobbled to the piano and sang Christmas hymns in a weak little voice, which wavered suspiciously towards the close. Christmas is the day of all others when families are united, and it seemed hard that when she possessed just one beloved relation, he should be away off at the other end of the world. The strange house, the unusual silence, and her own inability to move about, added to the feeling of depression, and her thoughts turned towards Aunt Margaret with unusual yearning. The old lady was at times a sore trial to her niece’s patience, but at least they had a claim on each other’s affection; she was the dear father’s sister, and her own legal guardian during his absence!Sylvia wondered how the two ladies would pass their day—church in the morning as a matter of course; early dinner and reminiscences of the brougham and peach-houses; arrival of the postman with cards; renewed reminiscences and family histories of the various senders; one arm-chair at each side of the fire; two white caps nodding sleepily forward; two pairs of cashmere boots reposing on footstools. Arrival of tea and exchange of recipes and household experiences. Letters of thanks to valued friends for seasonable gifts. Supper of cold turkey and cocoa, with anecdotal references to Christmases of long ago. Mutual exchange of compliments, bed, nightcaps, and sleeping-socks.Oh dear me! It all seemed very flat to one-and-twenty, and why should one girl have health and beauty, and brothers and sisters, and an adoring young husband into the bargain, and another be a solitary unit, with no one to cosset her and help her to bear her manifold infirmities?Sylvia’s tears were still rather near the surface, and she mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, and mopped them again, and then carefully dried them on a dry place, and craned forward to look in the glass and see if they looked very red and tell-tale. The bleared reflection had a wonderfully calming effect, and she limped to her couch and read persistently to distract her thoughts, until the peal of the bell announced the Hilliards’ arrival. From her corner she could not see the doorway, but judging from the sounds of coming and going, of dragging heavy weights, of scurrying along the passage, of whispered colloquies, and sudden explosions of laughter, it was evident that some great mystery was in the air.Then the cab drove away, the dining-room door closed with a bang, she heard the furniture being dragged to and fro, and wondered how long it would be before the drawing-room was raided in its turn. For a quarter of an hour the conspirators remained shut up together, then Esmeralda came sailing into the room, all smiles and amiability.“A happy Christmas to you, Miss Trevor! Excuse me for not coming in before, but I am so anxious to arrange my presents before the others come home from church. I want the easel from that corner, and I want you to promise faithfully that you won’t come into the dining-room before you are allowed!”“I can’t walk so far without help. You are quite safe so far as I am concerned,” said Sylvia regretfully, and Esmeralda looked at her with quick scrutiny.“So bad as that! I didn’t know. Is that why you have been crying?”“No—oh no! I am used to that now. I felt a little lonely, that’s all. I wanted my father.”The beautiful face changed suddenly, the lips tightened, the eyes grew large and strained. There was a ring of pain in the clear voice.“Is he dead?”“No, no, only so far-away. At the other end of the world, in Ceylon!”“You will see him again!” said Esmeralda shortly. She looked at the portrait of a handsome, reckless face which hung on the wall above the sofa, and drew a fluttering sigh. “That was my father. It is nearly two years since he had his accident, and I thought I could never be happy again. If I could write to him, if I could get his letters, and think that some day, it might be in twenty years to come, he would be back among us again, I should feel as if there was nothing else to wish for.”She sat down suddenly by the couch with an air of having forgotten all about the errand which had brought her into the room, clasped her hands round her knee, and began a series of disconnected childish memories, while Sylvia gazed spellbound at the beautiful, dreamy face, and wondered how she could ever have thought it cold and unfeeling.“We were always such chums, from the time that I was a mite in pinafores. I remember his first explaining to me what happened when people died—how their bodies were put into the grave, while their souls went straight to heaven; but I didn’t understand what a soul was, and I was frightened and cried out, ‘Well, I won’t go one step without my body!’ I used to play tricks on him, and he would catch me up and carry me into his room, and say, ‘Will you rather be poisoned, or buried alive?’ and I would prefer the poisoning because it was chocolates out of the corner cupboard.“He used to wake me in the mornings coming battering at my door, and singing, ‘Come awake thee, awake thee, my merry Swiss lass!’ and when we were learning French fables from Miss Minnitt, we used to take arms, Bridgie and I, and walk up and down before him reciting, ‘Deux compagnons pressé d’argent!’ It didn’t make any difference whether he had the money or not—he always gave it to us.“One day we were going for a picnic, and he walked on with the men, leaving me to drive after them in the cart with the provisions. There was only one thing he told me to remember, and that was just what I forgot—his camera, to take a special view which he’d wanted for an age. Four miles from home it jumped into my mind, and I sat in misery the rest of the way. The Major laughed when I told him, and sympathised with me for my upset. ‘You’ll forget your own head next, and it will be a pity,’ he said, ‘for it’s a very pretty one.’“I hated to vex him just because he was so sweet about it. No one ever understood me as well as the Major, and when I was in a tantrum he would say, ‘Think it over till to-morrow, my girl. If you are of the same mind then, we will discuss it together,’ and, of course, I never did think the same two days running.“When he was ill he used to lie looking at me, and his face was quite different from that in the picture—so sad and wistful. ‘I’ve not done much in the way of training you, my girl,’ he would say, ‘but I’ve loved you a great deal. Maybe that will do as well. You are not one to stand a bridle.’ He loved to have me with him; to the last he would stretch out his hand—”Her voice quivered and stopped, and Sylvia sat with lowered eyes, murmuring incoherent condolences. Esmeralda’s love for her dead father was very sweet and touching, but to the more reserved nature it seemed an extraordinary thing that she could speak so openly to a stranger, and in the twinkling of an eye change her mood from gay to grave.The hands of the clock were approaching the hour when the rest of the family might be expected to return from church, yet there she sat dreaming over the past, and apparently absolutely forgetful of the demands of the present. Sylvia dare not risk a reminder which would seem in the last degree unfeeling, but presently the door opened, and Geoffrey Hilliard appeared on the threshold, looking round with anxious inquiry.“Good morning, Miss Trevor. The compliments of the season.” Then he looked at his wife, all incredulous and aghast. “My dear girl, what are you about? Do you know that at any moment Bridgie may be here? I thought you had come for the easel.”Esmeralda leaped to her feet with a cry of dismay. “Hurry! hurry!” she cried. “Oh, what are you waiting for? Carry it for me. Be quick! be quick!” and off she rushed with a swirl of flounces, a rustle of silk, a wild waving of arms, while her husband chuckled with amusement, and confided in Sylvia—“That’s the usual programme! First keeps me waiting for hours, and then upbraids me for being slow. Keep Bridgie occupied if she comes in too soon, please, Miss Trevor. This little surprise needs a good deal of preparation.”What could it be? Sylvia grew quite excited as once more peals of laughter echoed from the dining-room. Esmeralda was evidently sparing no pains to display her presents to the best advantage, and, lucky girl, no want of money had hampered her choice of what would be appropriate and welcome.“I’m glad I gave Bridgie my minute offering this morning, so that it won’t be shamed by contrast. I shall be out of this distribution, so it doesn’t matter, but I do hope they will ask me to go in,” said Sylvia to herself. “I hated Esmeralda last night, but I rather love her this morning. She is like the little girl in the rhyme—when she is nice she is very, very nice; but when she is bad she is—horrid!”After all, the mysterious preparations were completed before the return of the church party, for the service had been unusually lengthy, and Esmeralda was champing with impatience before the latch-key clicked in the lock. There was great kissing and hugging beneath the mistletoe, and Bridgie was sent flying upstairs to take off her wraps, in preparation for the great exhibition.“I have laid out our presents in the dining-room, and they take up all the table, so there will be no dinner until they are distributed. I’ve lighted the lamp, dear, to make it look more festive. Hope you don’t mind? It was just the least thought in the world gloomy in that back room this morning.”“Anything you like, dear! anything you like!” cried Bridgie the docile; then she looked at Sylvia, and beamed with satisfaction as Geoffrey offered his arm to support the invalid’s halting footsteps.They led the way together, and she seated herself in state in an arm-chair, while the brothers and sisters crowded in at the doorway, exclaiming volubly at the sight which met their eyes.The table had been pushed lengthways against the window, the crimson curtains making an effective background to its heaped-up treasures. The lamp stood at the farther end of the room, casting a subdued rosy light on the eager faces. It was not exactly a “cheery” illumination, but it was certainly becoming, and lent an air of mystery to the everyday surroundings.“A new lamp-shade! How lovely! Pink silk and roses. Wouldn’t it make a sweet garden hat?” exclaimed Bridgie rapturously. “Is that my present, Joan? How did you know I wanted a shade?”“That’s a present for the house; yours is over there in that round box; Geoffrey will hand it to you. There’s a present for everybody, and one for you all together. You’ll see that last!”At that every eye turned curiously at the curtained picture-frame which stood artfully supported by boxes at the place of honour at the farther end of the table. Evidently this was the grand climax of the entertainment, but meantime there were half a dozen excitements in store, all calling for rapturous acknowledgments.Bridgie’s round box was found to contain a muff of real Russian sable, on receiving which, to use her own expressive phrase, she “nearly swooned with delight.” She sat purring over it, and rubbing it fondly against her cheeks, while dandy Jack was presented with a dressing-case, fitted with silver and ivory, Pat with a handsome camera, and Miles with a bicycle deftly wheeled from behind the curtains.Even the servants had been remembered, for there was a bulky parcel addressed to each name, and Sylvia grew red with mingled pleasure and embarrassment as a casket of French bon-bons was deposited on her knee. It was a delightful scene, and not the least delightful part of it was the enjoyment of the young couple themselves, and their whole-hearted participation in the pleasure of the recipients.It is the custom of most donors to depreciate their gifts, but that was not Esmeralda’s way. Not a bit of it! She was a capital show-woman, and if by chance any detail of perfection passed unnoticed, she pointed it out forthwith, and dilated at length upon its virtues. Jack turned over the silver-topped bottles, and peeped at his reflection in the mirror; Miles tingled his bicycle-bell, and balanced himself on the saddle; Sylvia handed round bon-bons and surreptitiously fumbled to discover how many rows the box contained; and Pat demanded immediate orders for family groups. It took some little time to restore order, but Geoffrey stood patiently waiting until he could make himself heard, his hand stretched out to uncover the curtained frame.“Now for the general present! With best wishes to the family circle, from Joan and myself. Are you ready? Very well, then, here you are! One, two, three!”With the last word he whisked off the cloth, and a gasp sounded through the room, followed by a silence more eloquent than words.Sylvia stared with widened eyes at the picture of a girl’s head, strangely like and yet unlike that precious photograph which Bridgie had exhibited with so much pride. It was Pixie—that was quite evident—but an older, bigger, wonderfully smartened edition of the elf-like child. The dark locks were rolled back in pompadour fashion over a high cushion, the plait turned up in a queue, fastened at the nape of the neck by an enormous outstanding bow; the cheeks were fuller in outline, and the disproportion between nose and mouth less marked. She was by no means pretty, yet there was a charm about the quaint little face which made the onlooker smile involuntarily and feel a sudden outgoing of affection.“P–pixie!” gasped Bridgie in a breathless whisper. She rested her cheek against the muff, and stared before her with rapt grey eyes. “Pixie’s portrait! Oh, Esmeralda—what a lovely thought! You had it taken for us? You sent to Paris for it?”“Yes—yes!” cried Esmeralda gleefully. “I knew it would please you more than anything else to have her with us. Do you like it? Do you think it is good? Is it quite like her?”“It’s like—yes, but not quite lifelike. Does she really do her hair like that? I can’t imagine Pixie looking so neat. She looks grave, too—graver than she ever looked, except when she was up to mischief. I hope she is not fretting, poor child! Oh, it makes me long for her more than ever! I could look at it all day long!”Jack stroked his chin, and smiled contentedly.“That’s what I call something like a present! It’s a rattling good portrait of the Piccaninny, judiciously flattered as portraits ought to be. We can’t see it, though, in this light. Let me put the lamp a little nearer, or take off the shade.”Esmeralda, however, was standing next the lamp, and refused to move aside.“We arranged it to give the best light, so it’s no use trying to improve it. The best view is from over there by the door,” she said in her masterful fashion which would brook no contradiction. “One can never see a picture to the best advantage by lamp-light, but you must make allowances for that. Do you think it is well done? It is by a very good master!”“Rather starry about the eyes!” said Pat critically.“Laid on the red rather too thickly about the cheeks!” objected Miles.Bridgie put down her muff, and went stooping across the room to get a nearer view.“Is it oil or water-colour? I seem to know the frame. Oh, itislike her, Esmeralda—oh, so like! Pixie, Pixie, my little Pixie!”“Bridgie!” cried an answering voice. The picture swayed, rocked forward, and fell on its face on the table; a little figure stood squeezed in between the table and the window. It was no picture, but a reality. Pixie herself stood among them in warm, living flesh and blood!
Christmas morning was heralded by the luxury of a late breakfast, when no one need hurry off to town, and even Miles could satisfy the demands of appetite without casting a thought to the time-table. Porridge, bacon, eggs and sausages laid the foundation of his meal, before he tackled marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh oranges and honey, accompanied by numerous draughts of tea and coffee, and finally by a cup filled with the united drainings of both pots, which he drank with obvious relish.
If it had been merry Pat who was so difficult to appease, there would have been no cause for astonishment, but Miles’s rapt eyes and ethereal expression seemed to bespeak no stronger diet than moonbeams and mountain dew, and to hear him accompany his last mouthful with an eager “When’s lunch?” was a distinct shock to the visitor. Jack, too, had sustained a relapse into sentiment, and was only awaiting opportunity to wax melancholy and confidential. With a word of encouragement he would have stayed away from church to bear her company, but Sylvia was provokingly obtuse, and he went off looking unutterable reproaches with his “humbugging eyes.”
Left to herself, Sylvia hobbled to the piano and sang Christmas hymns in a weak little voice, which wavered suspiciously towards the close. Christmas is the day of all others when families are united, and it seemed hard that when she possessed just one beloved relation, he should be away off at the other end of the world. The strange house, the unusual silence, and her own inability to move about, added to the feeling of depression, and her thoughts turned towards Aunt Margaret with unusual yearning. The old lady was at times a sore trial to her niece’s patience, but at least they had a claim on each other’s affection; she was the dear father’s sister, and her own legal guardian during his absence!
Sylvia wondered how the two ladies would pass their day—church in the morning as a matter of course; early dinner and reminiscences of the brougham and peach-houses; arrival of the postman with cards; renewed reminiscences and family histories of the various senders; one arm-chair at each side of the fire; two white caps nodding sleepily forward; two pairs of cashmere boots reposing on footstools. Arrival of tea and exchange of recipes and household experiences. Letters of thanks to valued friends for seasonable gifts. Supper of cold turkey and cocoa, with anecdotal references to Christmases of long ago. Mutual exchange of compliments, bed, nightcaps, and sleeping-socks.
Oh dear me! It all seemed very flat to one-and-twenty, and why should one girl have health and beauty, and brothers and sisters, and an adoring young husband into the bargain, and another be a solitary unit, with no one to cosset her and help her to bear her manifold infirmities?
Sylvia’s tears were still rather near the surface, and she mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, and mopped them again, and then carefully dried them on a dry place, and craned forward to look in the glass and see if they looked very red and tell-tale. The bleared reflection had a wonderfully calming effect, and she limped to her couch and read persistently to distract her thoughts, until the peal of the bell announced the Hilliards’ arrival. From her corner she could not see the doorway, but judging from the sounds of coming and going, of dragging heavy weights, of scurrying along the passage, of whispered colloquies, and sudden explosions of laughter, it was evident that some great mystery was in the air.
Then the cab drove away, the dining-room door closed with a bang, she heard the furniture being dragged to and fro, and wondered how long it would be before the drawing-room was raided in its turn. For a quarter of an hour the conspirators remained shut up together, then Esmeralda came sailing into the room, all smiles and amiability.
“A happy Christmas to you, Miss Trevor! Excuse me for not coming in before, but I am so anxious to arrange my presents before the others come home from church. I want the easel from that corner, and I want you to promise faithfully that you won’t come into the dining-room before you are allowed!”
“I can’t walk so far without help. You are quite safe so far as I am concerned,” said Sylvia regretfully, and Esmeralda looked at her with quick scrutiny.
“So bad as that! I didn’t know. Is that why you have been crying?”
“No—oh no! I am used to that now. I felt a little lonely, that’s all. I wanted my father.”
The beautiful face changed suddenly, the lips tightened, the eyes grew large and strained. There was a ring of pain in the clear voice.
“Is he dead?”
“No, no, only so far-away. At the other end of the world, in Ceylon!”
“You will see him again!” said Esmeralda shortly. She looked at the portrait of a handsome, reckless face which hung on the wall above the sofa, and drew a fluttering sigh. “That was my father. It is nearly two years since he had his accident, and I thought I could never be happy again. If I could write to him, if I could get his letters, and think that some day, it might be in twenty years to come, he would be back among us again, I should feel as if there was nothing else to wish for.”
She sat down suddenly by the couch with an air of having forgotten all about the errand which had brought her into the room, clasped her hands round her knee, and began a series of disconnected childish memories, while Sylvia gazed spellbound at the beautiful, dreamy face, and wondered how she could ever have thought it cold and unfeeling.
“We were always such chums, from the time that I was a mite in pinafores. I remember his first explaining to me what happened when people died—how their bodies were put into the grave, while their souls went straight to heaven; but I didn’t understand what a soul was, and I was frightened and cried out, ‘Well, I won’t go one step without my body!’ I used to play tricks on him, and he would catch me up and carry me into his room, and say, ‘Will you rather be poisoned, or buried alive?’ and I would prefer the poisoning because it was chocolates out of the corner cupboard.
“He used to wake me in the mornings coming battering at my door, and singing, ‘Come awake thee, awake thee, my merry Swiss lass!’ and when we were learning French fables from Miss Minnitt, we used to take arms, Bridgie and I, and walk up and down before him reciting, ‘Deux compagnons pressé d’argent!’ It didn’t make any difference whether he had the money or not—he always gave it to us.
“One day we were going for a picnic, and he walked on with the men, leaving me to drive after them in the cart with the provisions. There was only one thing he told me to remember, and that was just what I forgot—his camera, to take a special view which he’d wanted for an age. Four miles from home it jumped into my mind, and I sat in misery the rest of the way. The Major laughed when I told him, and sympathised with me for my upset. ‘You’ll forget your own head next, and it will be a pity,’ he said, ‘for it’s a very pretty one.’
“I hated to vex him just because he was so sweet about it. No one ever understood me as well as the Major, and when I was in a tantrum he would say, ‘Think it over till to-morrow, my girl. If you are of the same mind then, we will discuss it together,’ and, of course, I never did think the same two days running.
“When he was ill he used to lie looking at me, and his face was quite different from that in the picture—so sad and wistful. ‘I’ve not done much in the way of training you, my girl,’ he would say, ‘but I’ve loved you a great deal. Maybe that will do as well. You are not one to stand a bridle.’ He loved to have me with him; to the last he would stretch out his hand—”
Her voice quivered and stopped, and Sylvia sat with lowered eyes, murmuring incoherent condolences. Esmeralda’s love for her dead father was very sweet and touching, but to the more reserved nature it seemed an extraordinary thing that she could speak so openly to a stranger, and in the twinkling of an eye change her mood from gay to grave.
The hands of the clock were approaching the hour when the rest of the family might be expected to return from church, yet there she sat dreaming over the past, and apparently absolutely forgetful of the demands of the present. Sylvia dare not risk a reminder which would seem in the last degree unfeeling, but presently the door opened, and Geoffrey Hilliard appeared on the threshold, looking round with anxious inquiry.
“Good morning, Miss Trevor. The compliments of the season.” Then he looked at his wife, all incredulous and aghast. “My dear girl, what are you about? Do you know that at any moment Bridgie may be here? I thought you had come for the easel.”
Esmeralda leaped to her feet with a cry of dismay. “Hurry! hurry!” she cried. “Oh, what are you waiting for? Carry it for me. Be quick! be quick!” and off she rushed with a swirl of flounces, a rustle of silk, a wild waving of arms, while her husband chuckled with amusement, and confided in Sylvia—
“That’s the usual programme! First keeps me waiting for hours, and then upbraids me for being slow. Keep Bridgie occupied if she comes in too soon, please, Miss Trevor. This little surprise needs a good deal of preparation.”
What could it be? Sylvia grew quite excited as once more peals of laughter echoed from the dining-room. Esmeralda was evidently sparing no pains to display her presents to the best advantage, and, lucky girl, no want of money had hampered her choice of what would be appropriate and welcome.
“I’m glad I gave Bridgie my minute offering this morning, so that it won’t be shamed by contrast. I shall be out of this distribution, so it doesn’t matter, but I do hope they will ask me to go in,” said Sylvia to herself. “I hated Esmeralda last night, but I rather love her this morning. She is like the little girl in the rhyme—when she is nice she is very, very nice; but when she is bad she is—horrid!”
After all, the mysterious preparations were completed before the return of the church party, for the service had been unusually lengthy, and Esmeralda was champing with impatience before the latch-key clicked in the lock. There was great kissing and hugging beneath the mistletoe, and Bridgie was sent flying upstairs to take off her wraps, in preparation for the great exhibition.
“I have laid out our presents in the dining-room, and they take up all the table, so there will be no dinner until they are distributed. I’ve lighted the lamp, dear, to make it look more festive. Hope you don’t mind? It was just the least thought in the world gloomy in that back room this morning.”
“Anything you like, dear! anything you like!” cried Bridgie the docile; then she looked at Sylvia, and beamed with satisfaction as Geoffrey offered his arm to support the invalid’s halting footsteps.
They led the way together, and she seated herself in state in an arm-chair, while the brothers and sisters crowded in at the doorway, exclaiming volubly at the sight which met their eyes.
The table had been pushed lengthways against the window, the crimson curtains making an effective background to its heaped-up treasures. The lamp stood at the farther end of the room, casting a subdued rosy light on the eager faces. It was not exactly a “cheery” illumination, but it was certainly becoming, and lent an air of mystery to the everyday surroundings.
“A new lamp-shade! How lovely! Pink silk and roses. Wouldn’t it make a sweet garden hat?” exclaimed Bridgie rapturously. “Is that my present, Joan? How did you know I wanted a shade?”
“That’s a present for the house; yours is over there in that round box; Geoffrey will hand it to you. There’s a present for everybody, and one for you all together. You’ll see that last!”
At that every eye turned curiously at the curtained picture-frame which stood artfully supported by boxes at the place of honour at the farther end of the table. Evidently this was the grand climax of the entertainment, but meantime there were half a dozen excitements in store, all calling for rapturous acknowledgments.
Bridgie’s round box was found to contain a muff of real Russian sable, on receiving which, to use her own expressive phrase, she “nearly swooned with delight.” She sat purring over it, and rubbing it fondly against her cheeks, while dandy Jack was presented with a dressing-case, fitted with silver and ivory, Pat with a handsome camera, and Miles with a bicycle deftly wheeled from behind the curtains.
Even the servants had been remembered, for there was a bulky parcel addressed to each name, and Sylvia grew red with mingled pleasure and embarrassment as a casket of French bon-bons was deposited on her knee. It was a delightful scene, and not the least delightful part of it was the enjoyment of the young couple themselves, and their whole-hearted participation in the pleasure of the recipients.
It is the custom of most donors to depreciate their gifts, but that was not Esmeralda’s way. Not a bit of it! She was a capital show-woman, and if by chance any detail of perfection passed unnoticed, she pointed it out forthwith, and dilated at length upon its virtues. Jack turned over the silver-topped bottles, and peeped at his reflection in the mirror; Miles tingled his bicycle-bell, and balanced himself on the saddle; Sylvia handed round bon-bons and surreptitiously fumbled to discover how many rows the box contained; and Pat demanded immediate orders for family groups. It took some little time to restore order, but Geoffrey stood patiently waiting until he could make himself heard, his hand stretched out to uncover the curtained frame.
“Now for the general present! With best wishes to the family circle, from Joan and myself. Are you ready? Very well, then, here you are! One, two, three!”
With the last word he whisked off the cloth, and a gasp sounded through the room, followed by a silence more eloquent than words.
Sylvia stared with widened eyes at the picture of a girl’s head, strangely like and yet unlike that precious photograph which Bridgie had exhibited with so much pride. It was Pixie—that was quite evident—but an older, bigger, wonderfully smartened edition of the elf-like child. The dark locks were rolled back in pompadour fashion over a high cushion, the plait turned up in a queue, fastened at the nape of the neck by an enormous outstanding bow; the cheeks were fuller in outline, and the disproportion between nose and mouth less marked. She was by no means pretty, yet there was a charm about the quaint little face which made the onlooker smile involuntarily and feel a sudden outgoing of affection.
“P–pixie!” gasped Bridgie in a breathless whisper. She rested her cheek against the muff, and stared before her with rapt grey eyes. “Pixie’s portrait! Oh, Esmeralda—what a lovely thought! You had it taken for us? You sent to Paris for it?”
“Yes—yes!” cried Esmeralda gleefully. “I knew it would please you more than anything else to have her with us. Do you like it? Do you think it is good? Is it quite like her?”
“It’s like—yes, but not quite lifelike. Does she really do her hair like that? I can’t imagine Pixie looking so neat. She looks grave, too—graver than she ever looked, except when she was up to mischief. I hope she is not fretting, poor child! Oh, it makes me long for her more than ever! I could look at it all day long!”
Jack stroked his chin, and smiled contentedly.
“That’s what I call something like a present! It’s a rattling good portrait of the Piccaninny, judiciously flattered as portraits ought to be. We can’t see it, though, in this light. Let me put the lamp a little nearer, or take off the shade.”
Esmeralda, however, was standing next the lamp, and refused to move aside.
“We arranged it to give the best light, so it’s no use trying to improve it. The best view is from over there by the door,” she said in her masterful fashion which would brook no contradiction. “One can never see a picture to the best advantage by lamp-light, but you must make allowances for that. Do you think it is well done? It is by a very good master!”
“Rather starry about the eyes!” said Pat critically.
“Laid on the red rather too thickly about the cheeks!” objected Miles.
Bridgie put down her muff, and went stooping across the room to get a nearer view.
“Is it oil or water-colour? I seem to know the frame. Oh, itislike her, Esmeralda—oh, so like! Pixie, Pixie, my little Pixie!”
“Bridgie!” cried an answering voice. The picture swayed, rocked forward, and fell on its face on the table; a little figure stood squeezed in between the table and the window. It was no picture, but a reality. Pixie herself stood among them in warm, living flesh and blood!
Chapter Ten.Pixie’s Reminiscences.It is wonderful what money can do—in conjunction with generous impulse and ingenious brain. Esmeralda hung on to Bridgie’s arm relating in breathless accents how, being herself unable to go abroad until after the New Year, the happy inspiration had occurred to Geoffrey of despatching the French maid to her native city to bring back the dear living Christmas present which now stood before them; how the travellers had arrived on the previous evening, afire with delight at their own share in the conspiracy; how she herself had conceived the idea of presenting Pixie in the form of a portrait, and had brought the frame from home, and tacked across it a piece of black gauze to heighten the picture-like effect.“And I put the lamp as far-away from it as possible, and covered it over so that she might not have to keep still too long. Oh, if you could only have seen yourselves staring at her, and taking it all in grim earnest! I never, never enjoyed anything so much in my days!”“Is it oil colours I am, or water? I’m flattered, ain’t I, as a portrait ought to be? Ye couldn’t imagine I could be so neat!” cried Pixie tauntingly, as she pirouetted to and fro on the top of the table, to which she had lightly sprung at the first momentof discovery. She looked like a big French doll, as she swung from side to side, her hands outheld, her shoulders raised, her tiny feet twinkling to and fro. Her pink frock was marvellously smart, the flounces stood out in jaunty fashion around the ankles, the sash encircled a tiny waist, and the brothers and sisters stood looking on, joy, incredulity, amaze written upon their faces.Bridgie’s arms kept stretching out and falling back to her side with automatic regularity, and still the little figure pranced, and gesticulated, and blew kisses to right and left, at one moment a merry Irish vagabond, at the next a French marionette—all smirks and bows and shrugging shoulders.“We got the better of you that time, I’m thinking! Oh, la-la! how it was droll to hear you all making your pleasantries upon me while I kept still—so still! I have never been so still but when I am up to mischief. If ye could have seen under the table, I was shaking like a jelly, but Esmeralda said, ‘I’ll pack ye back as quick as ye came if you spoil it on me, after all me trouble!’”“Figure it to yourselves; I was sitting sotristeby myself in thesalon, thinking of you all at home, and the fun ye’d have without me, and the slices of plum-pudding fried up the next day the way I like them best, and never a bite to come my way, when behold I the door opened, and there enters to me Marie, all smiles and complaisance. Everything is altered, she bears a letter from Madame Hilliard—I must pack my box, and say my farewells, and be ready to start by the train next day. Fortunately all is ready. Thérèse has already prepared for my return. There was nothing to do but lay the things in the box and drive away.”“And what did Thérèse say to it all? How did she and Père like parting from you in such a hurry?”“They wept!” said Pixie tragically. Her shoulders approached her ears in eloquent gesture. “But how they wept! I also wept to see them weep, and Marie wept to leave her dear Paris.” She paused, and the solemn expression gave place to a broad smile of enjoyment.“There wasn’t a dry rag between the four of us, and Père took snuff to console himself, and that started him crying harder than ever. I was so flurried I couldn’t tell which was the topmost, joy or sorrow, until we had ham and eggs for breakfast this morning, and I felt I was at home. It’s an awful thing to live in a country where there’s never a bite of solid food to cheer your spirits in the morning! Many’s the time me heart would bleed, thinking of Miles if he’d been there. Are ye glad to see me, boys, now you know that I’m real?”There was no doubt about that. When at last the little sister condescended to step down from her perch, she was passed from one to another in a series of bear-like hugs, from which she emerged flushed and complacent, to step briskly towards Sylvia and kiss her effusively upon the cheek.“How d’ye do, me dear, and how’s your illness? I’ve heard so much about it that I expected to see you worse. You look too pretty to be an invalid!”“Hear, hear!” muttered Jack softly.Sylvia blushed and gripped the little hand which lay so confidingly in her own.“Thank you very much. I am getting better, but I don’t feel at all pretty. I’m lame, and have to limp about wherever I go, and my hair is tumbling out. I have the greatest difficulty to make it look respectable. I shall be bald soon!”Pixie craned forward and examined her head with sorrowful candour.“Itisthin! Ye can see the scalp shining through like shot silk. You’ll look like an old man with a bald head; but never mind! Think of the saving in the morning! It will be so easy to do your hair!”There was a burst of laughter from brothers and sisters, while Sylvia covered her face with her hands and rocked to and fro in mock despair.“You need never be unduly elated by a compliment from Pixie, Miss Trevor,” said Geoffrey Hilliard meaningly. “She is the most transparently truthful person I ever encountered, and favoured me with several character sketches of my wife before we were engaged, which might have warned me of my fate if I’d been a sensible fellow. I have remembered them, Pixie, many a time since then, and I’m glad to find your foreign experiences have not affected your candour. There’s another thing that is not much altered, so far as I can hear—and that’s your brogue, my dear! It sounds to me almost as pronounced as in the old days when you were running wild at Knock.”“But it’s got a French accent to it now—that’s better than English!” cried Pixie eagerly. “I was learning to speak quite elegantly in Surbiton, but Thérèse wouldn’t listen to a word of English out of my mouth, and if you’ll believe me, me dears, my very dreams are in French the last few months. There was ajeune fillein Paris who used to promenade with us sometimes for the benefit of hearing me talk English. She said the words didn’t sound the same way as when they taught them to her at school.Hélas le misérable! The brogue of her put shame on me own before I came away.”The shoulders went up again, and a roguish smile lit up the little face. Bridgie watched it with rapt, adoring eyes; her Pixie, her baby, was now a big girl, almost grown-up, transformed from the forlorn-looking elf to a natty little personage, more like the pictures ofjeunes filleson the back of French pattern plates than she could have believed possible for Irish flesh and blood. Imitative Pixie had caught “the air,” and the good Thérèse had evidently taken immense pains with the costume in which her pupil should make her reappearance in the family circle.Bridgie gazed at the buckled, high-heeled shoes peeping from beneath the flounces, and wondered if it could really be that they held the same little feet which used to patter about, buttonless, and down at heel; she looked at the jaunty, outstanding bow which tied back the hair, and contrasted it with the wisp of ribbon twisted to the proportions of a tape, and knotted like a cat-o’-nine-tails, which used to bind together the straggly locks, and as she looked, she felt—shall it be confessed?—a pang of longing and regret for the days that were no more. It passed in a moment, for whatever her external appearance might be, Pixie was transparently the same at heart, and quick to note the faintest shadow on the face of the dear mother-sister. She swung round to face Bridgie, the grey eyes bent upon her in earnest scrutiny.They saw something written there that had not been visible two years before—the outward marks of an inward, and very bitter struggle, and Bridgie flushed beneath the scrutiny of that clear-seeing, childlike gaze, and trembled at the thought of what was to come.“Has anyone been unkind to ye, Bridgie?” asked Pixie in deep, full-throated tones. She put up her hand and stroked the soft cheek with a tenderness of pitying love which was more eloquent than words. “There are dips in your cheeks, like Miss Minnitt’s when she was getting over the fever, and your eyes look tired. What has happened to worry ye, me dear, and take the colour out of your face?”“She has enough colour to satisfy you at the moment, hasn’t she?” Jack said, laughing, and Pixie nodded with ruthless candour.“Because she is blushing. What are you blushing for, you silly girl? It isn’t as if I had asked about a heart affair. The girls in France were always talking of heart affairs, and asking if you werefiancée. They thought you were very old, and must be going tocoifSaint Catherine. That means that you are going to be an old maid. I said yes, of course you were, because you were needed at home. Esmeralda was no use, but we could not get on without Bridgie!”“You miserable, ungrateful child! This is my reward for all I have done for you!” declaimed Esmeralda with dramatic emphasis, but Bridgie’s face lit up with a smile of whole-hearted satisfaction.Thank God! Whatever her personal disappointment might be, she could never feel that she was alone in the world—that among all its teeming millions there was no human being whose happiness depended upon her presence; she had been spared that worst trial to a woman’s heart, and Pixie’s calm taking-for-granted that she was indispensable to the family circle was the greatest comfort which she could have given.“No, I shan’t leave you, darling. I have too much to do looking after you and those three big boys, and when you fly away to nests of your own, Sylvia and I have all sorts of plans for enjoying ourselves together. I have promised faithfully to wheel her about in her Bath-chair.”“And I will make your caps. I’m clever at millinery,” said Sylvia, pretending not to hear Jack’s murmurs of protest, and looking very pretty and animated as she sat erect in her chair and gesticulated with her thin little hands. “You shall have one with pearl dangles for high days and holidays, and nice, stiff little black bows for ordinary wear. We will knit socks and mittens, and play cribbage in the evening, and talk over the days of our youth. It’s almost a pity we know each other now, for we shan’t be able to romance as much as we would like!”“Perhaps the romance will come in in some other way! Perhaps a husband may interfere with the claims of Saint Catherine!” said Geoffrey, putting into words the language of Jack’s eyes, and everybody stared at Sylvia’s face with embarrassing curiosity.“I shall never marry!” she said obstinately. Not that she meant it in the least, for she did not, but she was one of the girls who foolishly think it the right thing to protest in public, and who are mistaken enough to feel a trifle ashamed of the natural womanly longing for someone to love and to protect them, which God Himself has put in their hearts. A few girls there may be who honestly mean such a decision, but they are very few indeed, while their hearers are invariably sceptical.Not one of the O’Shaughnessys seemed in the least impressed by Sylvia’s disclaimer, and it was disconcerting to hear Pixie’s sympathetic, “Did no one ever ask ye? Never mind! They may still. You are not so very old!”Sylvia made up her mind there and then that it was better to say exactly what one meant in the presence of Miss Pixie O’Shaughnessy!
It is wonderful what money can do—in conjunction with generous impulse and ingenious brain. Esmeralda hung on to Bridgie’s arm relating in breathless accents how, being herself unable to go abroad until after the New Year, the happy inspiration had occurred to Geoffrey of despatching the French maid to her native city to bring back the dear living Christmas present which now stood before them; how the travellers had arrived on the previous evening, afire with delight at their own share in the conspiracy; how she herself had conceived the idea of presenting Pixie in the form of a portrait, and had brought the frame from home, and tacked across it a piece of black gauze to heighten the picture-like effect.
“And I put the lamp as far-away from it as possible, and covered it over so that she might not have to keep still too long. Oh, if you could only have seen yourselves staring at her, and taking it all in grim earnest! I never, never enjoyed anything so much in my days!”
“Is it oil colours I am, or water? I’m flattered, ain’t I, as a portrait ought to be? Ye couldn’t imagine I could be so neat!” cried Pixie tauntingly, as she pirouetted to and fro on the top of the table, to which she had lightly sprung at the first momentof discovery. She looked like a big French doll, as she swung from side to side, her hands outheld, her shoulders raised, her tiny feet twinkling to and fro. Her pink frock was marvellously smart, the flounces stood out in jaunty fashion around the ankles, the sash encircled a tiny waist, and the brothers and sisters stood looking on, joy, incredulity, amaze written upon their faces.
Bridgie’s arms kept stretching out and falling back to her side with automatic regularity, and still the little figure pranced, and gesticulated, and blew kisses to right and left, at one moment a merry Irish vagabond, at the next a French marionette—all smirks and bows and shrugging shoulders.
“We got the better of you that time, I’m thinking! Oh, la-la! how it was droll to hear you all making your pleasantries upon me while I kept still—so still! I have never been so still but when I am up to mischief. If ye could have seen under the table, I was shaking like a jelly, but Esmeralda said, ‘I’ll pack ye back as quick as ye came if you spoil it on me, after all me trouble!’”
“Figure it to yourselves; I was sitting sotristeby myself in thesalon, thinking of you all at home, and the fun ye’d have without me, and the slices of plum-pudding fried up the next day the way I like them best, and never a bite to come my way, when behold I the door opened, and there enters to me Marie, all smiles and complaisance. Everything is altered, she bears a letter from Madame Hilliard—I must pack my box, and say my farewells, and be ready to start by the train next day. Fortunately all is ready. Thérèse has already prepared for my return. There was nothing to do but lay the things in the box and drive away.”
“And what did Thérèse say to it all? How did she and Père like parting from you in such a hurry?”
“They wept!” said Pixie tragically. Her shoulders approached her ears in eloquent gesture. “But how they wept! I also wept to see them weep, and Marie wept to leave her dear Paris.” She paused, and the solemn expression gave place to a broad smile of enjoyment.
“There wasn’t a dry rag between the four of us, and Père took snuff to console himself, and that started him crying harder than ever. I was so flurried I couldn’t tell which was the topmost, joy or sorrow, until we had ham and eggs for breakfast this morning, and I felt I was at home. It’s an awful thing to live in a country where there’s never a bite of solid food to cheer your spirits in the morning! Many’s the time me heart would bleed, thinking of Miles if he’d been there. Are ye glad to see me, boys, now you know that I’m real?”
There was no doubt about that. When at last the little sister condescended to step down from her perch, she was passed from one to another in a series of bear-like hugs, from which she emerged flushed and complacent, to step briskly towards Sylvia and kiss her effusively upon the cheek.
“How d’ye do, me dear, and how’s your illness? I’ve heard so much about it that I expected to see you worse. You look too pretty to be an invalid!”
“Hear, hear!” muttered Jack softly.
Sylvia blushed and gripped the little hand which lay so confidingly in her own.
“Thank you very much. I am getting better, but I don’t feel at all pretty. I’m lame, and have to limp about wherever I go, and my hair is tumbling out. I have the greatest difficulty to make it look respectable. I shall be bald soon!”
Pixie craned forward and examined her head with sorrowful candour.
“Itisthin! Ye can see the scalp shining through like shot silk. You’ll look like an old man with a bald head; but never mind! Think of the saving in the morning! It will be so easy to do your hair!”
There was a burst of laughter from brothers and sisters, while Sylvia covered her face with her hands and rocked to and fro in mock despair.
“You need never be unduly elated by a compliment from Pixie, Miss Trevor,” said Geoffrey Hilliard meaningly. “She is the most transparently truthful person I ever encountered, and favoured me with several character sketches of my wife before we were engaged, which might have warned me of my fate if I’d been a sensible fellow. I have remembered them, Pixie, many a time since then, and I’m glad to find your foreign experiences have not affected your candour. There’s another thing that is not much altered, so far as I can hear—and that’s your brogue, my dear! It sounds to me almost as pronounced as in the old days when you were running wild at Knock.”
“But it’s got a French accent to it now—that’s better than English!” cried Pixie eagerly. “I was learning to speak quite elegantly in Surbiton, but Thérèse wouldn’t listen to a word of English out of my mouth, and if you’ll believe me, me dears, my very dreams are in French the last few months. There was ajeune fillein Paris who used to promenade with us sometimes for the benefit of hearing me talk English. She said the words didn’t sound the same way as when they taught them to her at school.Hélas le misérable! The brogue of her put shame on me own before I came away.”
The shoulders went up again, and a roguish smile lit up the little face. Bridgie watched it with rapt, adoring eyes; her Pixie, her baby, was now a big girl, almost grown-up, transformed from the forlorn-looking elf to a natty little personage, more like the pictures ofjeunes filleson the back of French pattern plates than she could have believed possible for Irish flesh and blood. Imitative Pixie had caught “the air,” and the good Thérèse had evidently taken immense pains with the costume in which her pupil should make her reappearance in the family circle.
Bridgie gazed at the buckled, high-heeled shoes peeping from beneath the flounces, and wondered if it could really be that they held the same little feet which used to patter about, buttonless, and down at heel; she looked at the jaunty, outstanding bow which tied back the hair, and contrasted it with the wisp of ribbon twisted to the proportions of a tape, and knotted like a cat-o’-nine-tails, which used to bind together the straggly locks, and as she looked, she felt—shall it be confessed?—a pang of longing and regret for the days that were no more. It passed in a moment, for whatever her external appearance might be, Pixie was transparently the same at heart, and quick to note the faintest shadow on the face of the dear mother-sister. She swung round to face Bridgie, the grey eyes bent upon her in earnest scrutiny.
They saw something written there that had not been visible two years before—the outward marks of an inward, and very bitter struggle, and Bridgie flushed beneath the scrutiny of that clear-seeing, childlike gaze, and trembled at the thought of what was to come.
“Has anyone been unkind to ye, Bridgie?” asked Pixie in deep, full-throated tones. She put up her hand and stroked the soft cheek with a tenderness of pitying love which was more eloquent than words. “There are dips in your cheeks, like Miss Minnitt’s when she was getting over the fever, and your eyes look tired. What has happened to worry ye, me dear, and take the colour out of your face?”
“She has enough colour to satisfy you at the moment, hasn’t she?” Jack said, laughing, and Pixie nodded with ruthless candour.
“Because she is blushing. What are you blushing for, you silly girl? It isn’t as if I had asked about a heart affair. The girls in France were always talking of heart affairs, and asking if you werefiancée. They thought you were very old, and must be going tocoifSaint Catherine. That means that you are going to be an old maid. I said yes, of course you were, because you were needed at home. Esmeralda was no use, but we could not get on without Bridgie!”
“You miserable, ungrateful child! This is my reward for all I have done for you!” declaimed Esmeralda with dramatic emphasis, but Bridgie’s face lit up with a smile of whole-hearted satisfaction.
Thank God! Whatever her personal disappointment might be, she could never feel that she was alone in the world—that among all its teeming millions there was no human being whose happiness depended upon her presence; she had been spared that worst trial to a woman’s heart, and Pixie’s calm taking-for-granted that she was indispensable to the family circle was the greatest comfort which she could have given.
“No, I shan’t leave you, darling. I have too much to do looking after you and those three big boys, and when you fly away to nests of your own, Sylvia and I have all sorts of plans for enjoying ourselves together. I have promised faithfully to wheel her about in her Bath-chair.”
“And I will make your caps. I’m clever at millinery,” said Sylvia, pretending not to hear Jack’s murmurs of protest, and looking very pretty and animated as she sat erect in her chair and gesticulated with her thin little hands. “You shall have one with pearl dangles for high days and holidays, and nice, stiff little black bows for ordinary wear. We will knit socks and mittens, and play cribbage in the evening, and talk over the days of our youth. It’s almost a pity we know each other now, for we shan’t be able to romance as much as we would like!”
“Perhaps the romance will come in in some other way! Perhaps a husband may interfere with the claims of Saint Catherine!” said Geoffrey, putting into words the language of Jack’s eyes, and everybody stared at Sylvia’s face with embarrassing curiosity.
“I shall never marry!” she said obstinately. Not that she meant it in the least, for she did not, but she was one of the girls who foolishly think it the right thing to protest in public, and who are mistaken enough to feel a trifle ashamed of the natural womanly longing for someone to love and to protect them, which God Himself has put in their hearts. A few girls there may be who honestly mean such a decision, but they are very few indeed, while their hearers are invariably sceptical.
Not one of the O’Shaughnessys seemed in the least impressed by Sylvia’s disclaimer, and it was disconcerting to hear Pixie’s sympathetic, “Did no one ever ask ye? Never mind! They may still. You are not so very old!”
Sylvia made up her mind there and then that it was better to say exactly what one meant in the presence of Miss Pixie O’Shaughnessy!
Chapter Eleven.Esmeralda Checkmated.Three days after Christmas, Esmeralda and her husband returned to Ireland, scattering invitations, severally and in bulk, to all the inhabitants of Number Three, Rutland Road. Even Sylvia found herself invited for a long visit, and was the more surprised at this mark of favour because Mrs Hilliard’s demeanour towards her was tinged with jealousy and uneasy suspicion. She was willing enough to play Lady Bountiful, present offerings of fruit and flowers, and be gushingly sympathetic, but she liked to monopolise the whole attention of her sisters, and was not well pleased when they in their turn hung about the invalid’s couch. She had not been an hour in the same room, moreover, before she had intercepted one of Jack’s most melting glances, and the stare of the great grey eyes left no doubt as to the disapproval with which she viewed the flirtation.Sylvia’s annoyance converted her into a very hedgehog of dignity, and the prickly quills kept the young fellow at such a distance that he lost faith in his own fascinations for the first and only time in his career. He bade Esmeralda an affectionate farewell, but was in truth well resigned to her departure—a fact which she was quite sharp enough to discover.“Jack is pleased that I am going away!” she said to Bridgie as the two sisters sat together for the last confidential chat. “He knows that I watch him flirting with Sylvia Trevor, and thinks he will get on better without me. You really ought to be careful, Bridgie, and not let them be too much together!”“Does he flirt with her? Not more than he does with every other girl,” said Bridgie leniently. “I don’t see why I should worry myself about it. Sylvia is a sensible girl, who is not given to fancying that every man is in love with her, and Jack is just a dear, soft-hearted boy, who can’t help making pretty speeches, but he would never make serious love if he did not mean it, and if he did—well, why not Sylvia as well as anyone else?”But Mrs Geoffrey Hilliard was not to be so easily appeased. She threw back her haughty head, lowered languid eyelids, and drawled out—“My dear Bridgie, remember whom you are speaking about! Jack is the head of the family—he’s O’Shaughnessy of Knock! Eventually, as we hope and believe, he will go back to take up his own position, and, thanks to Geoff, the property will be in a very different condition from what it was when he left. He must make a marriage which will be a help, not a hindrance. And who is she? Answer me that! What do you know about her?”“She is a dear girl! She is very attractive! Her father is abroad. She lives with an old aunt.”“Exactly! A pleasant girl in a London suburb!” Esmeralda’s voice was full of ineffable condescension. “There are thousands of them, and no doubt they are charming in their way, but not for Jack. He owes a duty to the family as well as himself, and you ought to tell him as much. You really ought, Bridgie! Speak to him at once, before it goes too far!”“Suppose you speak to him yourself! When you are so hot upon it, it’s a pity to leave it to me.”“No, I’d rather not. Jack is so stupid about taking advice. He would snap my nose off if I said anything.”“I really don’t see why my nose is not as valuable as yours! Why should I do your disagreeable work for you?” retorted Bridgie with spirit. “You did not know that Geoffrey was a rich man when you promised to marry him, and it’s the last thing I would think of myself, so why should we expect any more of Jack? I am not going to interfere, whatever happens, and if you take my advice you won’t mention Sylvia’s name to him!”“I don’t intend to, but—”Esmeralda shut her lips tightly over an unspoken determination. There are more ways than one of nipping in the bud an incipient love affair, but she did not care about confiding her latest inspiration to any hearer, least of all to Bridgie, who would have given up her most cherished plans rather than hurt the feelings of a fellow-creature. She changed the subject, and talked lightly on impersonal topics until the moment of parting drew near, when there came a sudden softening over the beautiful face, and she said in gentle, diffident tones—“I didn’t like to ask before, but I can’t leave without knowing, darling. Have you heard?”Bridgie shook her head mutely, and the lines which Pixie had noticed deepened round her eyes and mouth, but the eyes smiled still—a brave, steady smile.“I never shall hear now, Joan. I’ve made up my mind to that.”“I don’t know how you bear it! I can’t think how you manage to be so composed and cheerful! If Geoff had treated me like that, it would have soured me for life. You were never sour from the first, and now you seem quite happy. Yet, as Pixie says, you have a pathetic look which shows that you have not really forgotten. You still care, Bridgie dear?”“I shall always care,” said Bridgie quietly. “There’s an ache at the back of my heart, but there are so many things at the front that it gets crowded out. Besides, you know, Esmeralda darling, I don’t want to seem to praise myself, but it’s a trouble which God has sent me, and I ask Him every night to help me to bear it in the right way. It wouldn’t be the right way to let the shadow of it darken other lives besides my own. If I moped and grizzled, everyone in the house would be uncomfortable, and they have their own worries, poor creatures, without suffering for mine! I made an excellent rule for my own benefit—to laugh downstairs and cry in my own room, and it answers beautifully, for I’m so tired when I get to bed that I’ve no sooner begun repining than I wake up and find it’s morning. You try it, dear, when you’ve got a worry. You’ll find it splendid!”Esmeralda shook her head.“Not for me! What I feel I must show, and sooner than I feel it, if that is possible. If I tried to bottle up my feelings it would make me ill, and the explosion would be all the greater when it did come. My only chance is to get it over as soon as possible, but in your case it is a long slow suspense, which is worse than any definite trouble. You are an angel, dear, to bear it as you do! It’s mysterious that it should have come to you and not me, for you didn’t need discipline, and I, who was always the naughty one, have got all that I want—Geoffrey, and home, and the dear little boy. You must come soon, Bridgie, to see the boy. He will be getting teeth and all sorts of luxuries, and his godmother ought to be there to look after him.”Esmeralda rose and strolled over to the glass to arrange her hat and pin on a filmy veil. “I must go downstairs now, and say good-bye to Miss Trevor. Don’t hurry, dear, if you have anything to do. We don’t leave for a quarter of an hour still.”Unsuspecting Bridgie trotted away to the kitchen to give some orders, while Esmeralda sailed into the drawing-room, all smiles and amiability. A peal of laughter greeted her ears as she entered, and there sat Pixie perched on the end of the sofa, with her hands clasped round her knees, and her chin poked forward, enjoying to the full the discovery of a new audience, who was apparently as much interested in the sayings and doings of the O’Shaughnessy family as she was herself.Both girls looked up as the rustle of silks heralded Mrs Hilliard’s approach, but while the younger remained serenely composed, Sylvia’s lips tightened, and her eyes gave out an ominous flash. It was as if she felt an antagonistic spirit in the air, and braced herself for the conflict. Yet nothing could have been more friendly than Esmeralda’s smile—more cordial than her voice.“I told Bridgie I must really have ten minutes for a farewell chat with you before I go. It has been so pleasant to have you here, and I hope we shall soon meet again. Has Pixie been amusing you while we were upstairs? Come down from that couch, child! You must be quite cramped. I am here, so you need not mount guard any longer.”“I’m very comfortable where I am,” said Pixie easily. She laid her head on one side, and stared at her sister with large, innocent eyes, which seemed strangely disconcerting to that young lady’s composure. She frowned, and snapped a bracelet together with quite a vicious snap.“But you are too old for such inelegant positions. You are almost grown-up now, and must learn how to behave. For goodness’ sake get up before Geoff sees you! He is so very particular about nice behaviour in girls.”“’Twas a bad relapse for him when he married you!” muttered Pixie beneath her breath. She straightened herself slowly and let her feet slip to the ground, but Esmeralda realised that nothing but a direct request would convince her of the extraordinary fact that her absence was for once more desired than her presence. For obvious reasons such a request could not be made, and as the time was quickly passing nothing remained but to clothe her hints even more circumspectly than she had intended.“I am so glad that your foot is really getting better,” she said graciously to Sylvia. “Bridgie says the nurse is so pleased with its progress the last few days. You will be able to walk about soon, and then if you feel inclined for a change we shall be so pleased if you will come over to visit us. It is quiet at Knock, but I would drive you about, and the air is so delightful that I am sure it would do you good. You will hear all about the place from Pixie, so that it would not feel strange to you when you arrived, and we have a few nice friends within driving distance.“She would like Mollie Burrell, wouldn’t she, Pixie? That’s a young girl who lives seven miles from us at Knock, but we think nothing of that distance in the country. She was always over at the Castle before Jack went away, and we used to say she felt like another sister. You remember how he used to drive over in the cart, and bring her back to surprise us?”“I do so! And the afternoon when she went shopping into the post-office as they drove through the village, and Tim Hegan came up and began bidding for the old grey mare, and with that Jack took him into the cart and drove over to the farm, and never a thought of poor Mollie until the evening, when she cut him dead limping home through the mud. ’Twas a cruel thing to do, and the poor creature putting on new boots for the occasion to do him honour, and says Jack, ‘I’ve done for myself this time! It would take a cleverer man than myself to twistthatinto a compliment!’”“Oh, that’s an old-world story!” cried Esmeralda, with her head in the air. Her cheeks had flushed despite her efforts for composure, and she was uncomfortably conscious that Sylvia was trying to restrain a smile at this most open contradiction of the implied attachment between Jack and his Irish neighbour. Her irritation urged her to stronger measures, and she said testily—“It proves how little dependence can be placed upon Jack’s promises. If he could forget Mollie, it is no wonder that he changes his mind every other day. But they made up that quarrel ages ago, and he was over there shooting in September and squiring her all over the county. You should not tell tales out of school, Pixie!”“Was it me? I thought it was yourself. You began saying that they were such friends, and I thought maybe it would amuse Sylvia to hear—”“So it does, Pixie. It amuses me extremely,” assented Sylvia with an intentional emphasis, which made Esmeralda wince once more, for, however innocent the little sister might be, she felt convinced that Sylvia Trevor thoroughly understood her implied warning, and was by no means docile in her manner of receiving it. She sat up stiff and erect, smiling into space with an expression of scornful superiority which filled the beholder with unwilling admiration. In just such a spirit would she herself have accepted interference from the lips of a stranger. She recognised a kindred spirit, and realised that, putting Jack out of the question, Miss Sylvia Trevor would be a friend after her own heart.The repeated invitation had in it a note of sincerity which had been wanting in the earlier rendering, but Sylvia only murmured, “Thank you!” in a politely non-committal manner, and shrank back so decidedly from the proffered kiss that there was no choice but to substitute a formal handshake in its stead.The sisters drove off together to the station, and Sylvia was left alone to relieve pent-up irritation by making one impetuous resolve after another, to replace each the following moment by one diametrically different.“Thank goodness, she has gone at last! I can’t think how I ever could have liked her! I think I dislike her more than anyone I ever met. How dare she interfere with me! How dare she imply that I want to monopolise her precious brother! I shall never speak to him again as long as I live! I shall go home to-morrow, and take good care that I never come across when he is likely to be at home. Perhaps she has warned him too, as if he were not conceited enough already! He is worth a dozen of her all the same, and is far nicer than I thought at first. It’s perfectly absurd to think a man and a girl cannot be in the same house for a week without falling in love with each other. I won’t condescend to take the faintest notice of her insinuations. I shall be as nice as I like, and give up snubbing him from this minute. He can be engaged to fifty Mollie Burrells if he likes; that’s no reason why I should not treat him civilly!”In the hours which elapsed before the return of the sisters she had had time to change her mind a dozen times over, to write letters to Aunt Margaret and burn them in the fire, to invent scathing sarcasms by which poor Jack was to be reduced to a condition of hopeless subjection, and rehearse melting scenes when her womanly sympathy would soothe ruffled spirits and restore him to calm.All uncertainty as to her conduct was, however, removed by the first glance at Jack’s face when he returned home in the evening, for it bore the unmistakable marks of real anxiety, and the weary sigh with which he sank into his chair was something new to his vigorous manhood.Bridgie bustled in with the tea which always awaited his coming, kissed him lightly, and hurried away to finish some letters. Pixie sat hunched up before the fire devouring a book, and Jack pushed his chair nearer Sylvia’s couch, staring at her in a dumb, melancholy fashion which had in it something singularly beguiling. Despite his great height and muscular form, he looked so helpless and appealing, like a nice child who has lost a toy, or a big collie dog which turns pathetic eyes towards his master’s face.Sylvia smiled involuntarily, but it was a very friendly smile, and her voice had lost its mocking tone as she inquired—“Well—what’s the trouble?”Jack put his cup on the table and leant towards her, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin supported on clasped hands. Pixie read on undisturbed, soft gurgles of laughter marking her enjoyment of sensational passages.“I’ve had a blow,” said Jack, “a ghastly disappointment! This is the day when the firm announces the various arrangements for the year, increases in salary and so on. I quite understood that I should come in for a substantial rise, if not a junior partnership. It was talked about when I joined four years back, and as nothing was done last January I made a certainty of it coming off now. Instead of that, I get nothing—nothing! No advance at all upon the payment of the last two years. I had it out with the partners this afternoon, and they seemed to think I had done unusually well. They implied that it was a piece of pure imagination on my part to have expected to be taken into the firm.”“But—I know nothing about business except what I have read—but is it not usual to have something written—a definite agreement which settles things without the possibility of argument? If you joined this firm with the idea of being made a partner, was not an agreement written down in black and white?”Jack waved his hand in airy dissent.“No, there was nothing definite, but we talked it over.—The old fellow certainly held out hopes for the future! I made so sure of a partnership that we took this house in the prospect of being able to pay for it out of my increased earnings. It’s too expensive as it is for people brought up as we have been. I’m the most practical of the bundle, and with care and attention can make half a crown go almost as far as an Englishman’s shilling; but Bridgie, bless her! wears herself out saving pennies, and throws away pounds with the best. In my father’s time there was never any money to trouble about, so she got into the way of ordering things without thinking what they would cost, and it’s a difficult plan to forsake. She’s done her best, poor creature! I wouldn’t blame her for the world.”“And—and will you have to leave the house?” Sylvia’s heart sank drearily at the prospect. What if the O’Shaughnessys flitted away to a suburb at the opposite end of the city, and Number Three, Rutland Road was deserted once more, or tenanted by an ordinary, commonplace family, such as inhabited every other villa in the neighbourhood! After the sweet friendship of Bridgie, the fascinations of Jack, the audacities of the two boys, the witcheries of Pixie, and last but not least, the incursions of Esmeralda, exasperating, but to the last degree romantic and beautiful, Sylvia felt a shudder of distaste at the thought of a stout mamma and papa, one baby in a perambulator, another in a mail-cart, and a graduated line of school-boys and girls sallying forth daily to their appointed tasks. “Oh, I’m so sorry you will have to leave!” she sighed, and Jack smiled at her in grateful acknowledgment of her regret.“I’m glad you are sorry, but I don’t intend to leave. We have been here only four months, and I can’t face another removal for—many reasons! We will have to squeeze along somehow until things look up. A crop of bills have come in during the last few days to make matters worse, and I will have to talk things over with Bridgie to-night. I hate to worry her, but there must be some system, or we shall find ourselves in the workhouse some fine day. And now there is the child to think of. She will be an extra expense!”Sylvia glanced quickly across the room at the figure in the depths of the arm-chair. She sat motionless, her head bent over her book, but Pixie was one of those intensely alive little creatures who seem to infect their very surroundings with vitality. It seemed to Sylvia that the pages fluttered in agitated fashion, the bow of ribbon holding back her hair seemed of a sudden to stand out at attention, the knotted ends looked like two alert, curious ears at the back of her head.How much had Pixie heard?
Three days after Christmas, Esmeralda and her husband returned to Ireland, scattering invitations, severally and in bulk, to all the inhabitants of Number Three, Rutland Road. Even Sylvia found herself invited for a long visit, and was the more surprised at this mark of favour because Mrs Hilliard’s demeanour towards her was tinged with jealousy and uneasy suspicion. She was willing enough to play Lady Bountiful, present offerings of fruit and flowers, and be gushingly sympathetic, but she liked to monopolise the whole attention of her sisters, and was not well pleased when they in their turn hung about the invalid’s couch. She had not been an hour in the same room, moreover, before she had intercepted one of Jack’s most melting glances, and the stare of the great grey eyes left no doubt as to the disapproval with which she viewed the flirtation.
Sylvia’s annoyance converted her into a very hedgehog of dignity, and the prickly quills kept the young fellow at such a distance that he lost faith in his own fascinations for the first and only time in his career. He bade Esmeralda an affectionate farewell, but was in truth well resigned to her departure—a fact which she was quite sharp enough to discover.
“Jack is pleased that I am going away!” she said to Bridgie as the two sisters sat together for the last confidential chat. “He knows that I watch him flirting with Sylvia Trevor, and thinks he will get on better without me. You really ought to be careful, Bridgie, and not let them be too much together!”
“Does he flirt with her? Not more than he does with every other girl,” said Bridgie leniently. “I don’t see why I should worry myself about it. Sylvia is a sensible girl, who is not given to fancying that every man is in love with her, and Jack is just a dear, soft-hearted boy, who can’t help making pretty speeches, but he would never make serious love if he did not mean it, and if he did—well, why not Sylvia as well as anyone else?”
But Mrs Geoffrey Hilliard was not to be so easily appeased. She threw back her haughty head, lowered languid eyelids, and drawled out—
“My dear Bridgie, remember whom you are speaking about! Jack is the head of the family—he’s O’Shaughnessy of Knock! Eventually, as we hope and believe, he will go back to take up his own position, and, thanks to Geoff, the property will be in a very different condition from what it was when he left. He must make a marriage which will be a help, not a hindrance. And who is she? Answer me that! What do you know about her?”
“She is a dear girl! She is very attractive! Her father is abroad. She lives with an old aunt.”
“Exactly! A pleasant girl in a London suburb!” Esmeralda’s voice was full of ineffable condescension. “There are thousands of them, and no doubt they are charming in their way, but not for Jack. He owes a duty to the family as well as himself, and you ought to tell him as much. You really ought, Bridgie! Speak to him at once, before it goes too far!”
“Suppose you speak to him yourself! When you are so hot upon it, it’s a pity to leave it to me.”
“No, I’d rather not. Jack is so stupid about taking advice. He would snap my nose off if I said anything.”
“I really don’t see why my nose is not as valuable as yours! Why should I do your disagreeable work for you?” retorted Bridgie with spirit. “You did not know that Geoffrey was a rich man when you promised to marry him, and it’s the last thing I would think of myself, so why should we expect any more of Jack? I am not going to interfere, whatever happens, and if you take my advice you won’t mention Sylvia’s name to him!”
“I don’t intend to, but—”
Esmeralda shut her lips tightly over an unspoken determination. There are more ways than one of nipping in the bud an incipient love affair, but she did not care about confiding her latest inspiration to any hearer, least of all to Bridgie, who would have given up her most cherished plans rather than hurt the feelings of a fellow-creature. She changed the subject, and talked lightly on impersonal topics until the moment of parting drew near, when there came a sudden softening over the beautiful face, and she said in gentle, diffident tones—
“I didn’t like to ask before, but I can’t leave without knowing, darling. Have you heard?”
Bridgie shook her head mutely, and the lines which Pixie had noticed deepened round her eyes and mouth, but the eyes smiled still—a brave, steady smile.
“I never shall hear now, Joan. I’ve made up my mind to that.”
“I don’t know how you bear it! I can’t think how you manage to be so composed and cheerful! If Geoff had treated me like that, it would have soured me for life. You were never sour from the first, and now you seem quite happy. Yet, as Pixie says, you have a pathetic look which shows that you have not really forgotten. You still care, Bridgie dear?”
“I shall always care,” said Bridgie quietly. “There’s an ache at the back of my heart, but there are so many things at the front that it gets crowded out. Besides, you know, Esmeralda darling, I don’t want to seem to praise myself, but it’s a trouble which God has sent me, and I ask Him every night to help me to bear it in the right way. It wouldn’t be the right way to let the shadow of it darken other lives besides my own. If I moped and grizzled, everyone in the house would be uncomfortable, and they have their own worries, poor creatures, without suffering for mine! I made an excellent rule for my own benefit—to laugh downstairs and cry in my own room, and it answers beautifully, for I’m so tired when I get to bed that I’ve no sooner begun repining than I wake up and find it’s morning. You try it, dear, when you’ve got a worry. You’ll find it splendid!”
Esmeralda shook her head.
“Not for me! What I feel I must show, and sooner than I feel it, if that is possible. If I tried to bottle up my feelings it would make me ill, and the explosion would be all the greater when it did come. My only chance is to get it over as soon as possible, but in your case it is a long slow suspense, which is worse than any definite trouble. You are an angel, dear, to bear it as you do! It’s mysterious that it should have come to you and not me, for you didn’t need discipline, and I, who was always the naughty one, have got all that I want—Geoffrey, and home, and the dear little boy. You must come soon, Bridgie, to see the boy. He will be getting teeth and all sorts of luxuries, and his godmother ought to be there to look after him.”
Esmeralda rose and strolled over to the glass to arrange her hat and pin on a filmy veil. “I must go downstairs now, and say good-bye to Miss Trevor. Don’t hurry, dear, if you have anything to do. We don’t leave for a quarter of an hour still.”
Unsuspecting Bridgie trotted away to the kitchen to give some orders, while Esmeralda sailed into the drawing-room, all smiles and amiability. A peal of laughter greeted her ears as she entered, and there sat Pixie perched on the end of the sofa, with her hands clasped round her knees, and her chin poked forward, enjoying to the full the discovery of a new audience, who was apparently as much interested in the sayings and doings of the O’Shaughnessy family as she was herself.
Both girls looked up as the rustle of silks heralded Mrs Hilliard’s approach, but while the younger remained serenely composed, Sylvia’s lips tightened, and her eyes gave out an ominous flash. It was as if she felt an antagonistic spirit in the air, and braced herself for the conflict. Yet nothing could have been more friendly than Esmeralda’s smile—more cordial than her voice.
“I told Bridgie I must really have ten minutes for a farewell chat with you before I go. It has been so pleasant to have you here, and I hope we shall soon meet again. Has Pixie been amusing you while we were upstairs? Come down from that couch, child! You must be quite cramped. I am here, so you need not mount guard any longer.”
“I’m very comfortable where I am,” said Pixie easily. She laid her head on one side, and stared at her sister with large, innocent eyes, which seemed strangely disconcerting to that young lady’s composure. She frowned, and snapped a bracelet together with quite a vicious snap.
“But you are too old for such inelegant positions. You are almost grown-up now, and must learn how to behave. For goodness’ sake get up before Geoff sees you! He is so very particular about nice behaviour in girls.”
“’Twas a bad relapse for him when he married you!” muttered Pixie beneath her breath. She straightened herself slowly and let her feet slip to the ground, but Esmeralda realised that nothing but a direct request would convince her of the extraordinary fact that her absence was for once more desired than her presence. For obvious reasons such a request could not be made, and as the time was quickly passing nothing remained but to clothe her hints even more circumspectly than she had intended.
“I am so glad that your foot is really getting better,” she said graciously to Sylvia. “Bridgie says the nurse is so pleased with its progress the last few days. You will be able to walk about soon, and then if you feel inclined for a change we shall be so pleased if you will come over to visit us. It is quiet at Knock, but I would drive you about, and the air is so delightful that I am sure it would do you good. You will hear all about the place from Pixie, so that it would not feel strange to you when you arrived, and we have a few nice friends within driving distance.
“She would like Mollie Burrell, wouldn’t she, Pixie? That’s a young girl who lives seven miles from us at Knock, but we think nothing of that distance in the country. She was always over at the Castle before Jack went away, and we used to say she felt like another sister. You remember how he used to drive over in the cart, and bring her back to surprise us?”
“I do so! And the afternoon when she went shopping into the post-office as they drove through the village, and Tim Hegan came up and began bidding for the old grey mare, and with that Jack took him into the cart and drove over to the farm, and never a thought of poor Mollie until the evening, when she cut him dead limping home through the mud. ’Twas a cruel thing to do, and the poor creature putting on new boots for the occasion to do him honour, and says Jack, ‘I’ve done for myself this time! It would take a cleverer man than myself to twistthatinto a compliment!’”
“Oh, that’s an old-world story!” cried Esmeralda, with her head in the air. Her cheeks had flushed despite her efforts for composure, and she was uncomfortably conscious that Sylvia was trying to restrain a smile at this most open contradiction of the implied attachment between Jack and his Irish neighbour. Her irritation urged her to stronger measures, and she said testily—
“It proves how little dependence can be placed upon Jack’s promises. If he could forget Mollie, it is no wonder that he changes his mind every other day. But they made up that quarrel ages ago, and he was over there shooting in September and squiring her all over the county. You should not tell tales out of school, Pixie!”
“Was it me? I thought it was yourself. You began saying that they were such friends, and I thought maybe it would amuse Sylvia to hear—”
“So it does, Pixie. It amuses me extremely,” assented Sylvia with an intentional emphasis, which made Esmeralda wince once more, for, however innocent the little sister might be, she felt convinced that Sylvia Trevor thoroughly understood her implied warning, and was by no means docile in her manner of receiving it. She sat up stiff and erect, smiling into space with an expression of scornful superiority which filled the beholder with unwilling admiration. In just such a spirit would she herself have accepted interference from the lips of a stranger. She recognised a kindred spirit, and realised that, putting Jack out of the question, Miss Sylvia Trevor would be a friend after her own heart.
The repeated invitation had in it a note of sincerity which had been wanting in the earlier rendering, but Sylvia only murmured, “Thank you!” in a politely non-committal manner, and shrank back so decidedly from the proffered kiss that there was no choice but to substitute a formal handshake in its stead.
The sisters drove off together to the station, and Sylvia was left alone to relieve pent-up irritation by making one impetuous resolve after another, to replace each the following moment by one diametrically different.
“Thank goodness, she has gone at last! I can’t think how I ever could have liked her! I think I dislike her more than anyone I ever met. How dare she interfere with me! How dare she imply that I want to monopolise her precious brother! I shall never speak to him again as long as I live! I shall go home to-morrow, and take good care that I never come across when he is likely to be at home. Perhaps she has warned him too, as if he were not conceited enough already! He is worth a dozen of her all the same, and is far nicer than I thought at first. It’s perfectly absurd to think a man and a girl cannot be in the same house for a week without falling in love with each other. I won’t condescend to take the faintest notice of her insinuations. I shall be as nice as I like, and give up snubbing him from this minute. He can be engaged to fifty Mollie Burrells if he likes; that’s no reason why I should not treat him civilly!”
In the hours which elapsed before the return of the sisters she had had time to change her mind a dozen times over, to write letters to Aunt Margaret and burn them in the fire, to invent scathing sarcasms by which poor Jack was to be reduced to a condition of hopeless subjection, and rehearse melting scenes when her womanly sympathy would soothe ruffled spirits and restore him to calm.
All uncertainty as to her conduct was, however, removed by the first glance at Jack’s face when he returned home in the evening, for it bore the unmistakable marks of real anxiety, and the weary sigh with which he sank into his chair was something new to his vigorous manhood.
Bridgie bustled in with the tea which always awaited his coming, kissed him lightly, and hurried away to finish some letters. Pixie sat hunched up before the fire devouring a book, and Jack pushed his chair nearer Sylvia’s couch, staring at her in a dumb, melancholy fashion which had in it something singularly beguiling. Despite his great height and muscular form, he looked so helpless and appealing, like a nice child who has lost a toy, or a big collie dog which turns pathetic eyes towards his master’s face.
Sylvia smiled involuntarily, but it was a very friendly smile, and her voice had lost its mocking tone as she inquired—
“Well—what’s the trouble?”
Jack put his cup on the table and leant towards her, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin supported on clasped hands. Pixie read on undisturbed, soft gurgles of laughter marking her enjoyment of sensational passages.
“I’ve had a blow,” said Jack, “a ghastly disappointment! This is the day when the firm announces the various arrangements for the year, increases in salary and so on. I quite understood that I should come in for a substantial rise, if not a junior partnership. It was talked about when I joined four years back, and as nothing was done last January I made a certainty of it coming off now. Instead of that, I get nothing—nothing! No advance at all upon the payment of the last two years. I had it out with the partners this afternoon, and they seemed to think I had done unusually well. They implied that it was a piece of pure imagination on my part to have expected to be taken into the firm.”
“But—I know nothing about business except what I have read—but is it not usual to have something written—a definite agreement which settles things without the possibility of argument? If you joined this firm with the idea of being made a partner, was not an agreement written down in black and white?”
Jack waved his hand in airy dissent.
“No, there was nothing definite, but we talked it over.—The old fellow certainly held out hopes for the future! I made so sure of a partnership that we took this house in the prospect of being able to pay for it out of my increased earnings. It’s too expensive as it is for people brought up as we have been. I’m the most practical of the bundle, and with care and attention can make half a crown go almost as far as an Englishman’s shilling; but Bridgie, bless her! wears herself out saving pennies, and throws away pounds with the best. In my father’s time there was never any money to trouble about, so she got into the way of ordering things without thinking what they would cost, and it’s a difficult plan to forsake. She’s done her best, poor creature! I wouldn’t blame her for the world.”
“And—and will you have to leave the house?” Sylvia’s heart sank drearily at the prospect. What if the O’Shaughnessys flitted away to a suburb at the opposite end of the city, and Number Three, Rutland Road was deserted once more, or tenanted by an ordinary, commonplace family, such as inhabited every other villa in the neighbourhood! After the sweet friendship of Bridgie, the fascinations of Jack, the audacities of the two boys, the witcheries of Pixie, and last but not least, the incursions of Esmeralda, exasperating, but to the last degree romantic and beautiful, Sylvia felt a shudder of distaste at the thought of a stout mamma and papa, one baby in a perambulator, another in a mail-cart, and a graduated line of school-boys and girls sallying forth daily to their appointed tasks. “Oh, I’m so sorry you will have to leave!” she sighed, and Jack smiled at her in grateful acknowledgment of her regret.
“I’m glad you are sorry, but I don’t intend to leave. We have been here only four months, and I can’t face another removal for—many reasons! We will have to squeeze along somehow until things look up. A crop of bills have come in during the last few days to make matters worse, and I will have to talk things over with Bridgie to-night. I hate to worry her, but there must be some system, or we shall find ourselves in the workhouse some fine day. And now there is the child to think of. She will be an extra expense!”
Sylvia glanced quickly across the room at the figure in the depths of the arm-chair. She sat motionless, her head bent over her book, but Pixie was one of those intensely alive little creatures who seem to infect their very surroundings with vitality. It seemed to Sylvia that the pages fluttered in agitated fashion, the bow of ribbon holding back her hair seemed of a sudden to stand out at attention, the knotted ends looked like two alert, curious ears at the back of her head.
How much had Pixie heard?