Bridgie rang the bell to have the tea-things removed and a message sent
to the nursery that the children might descend without further delay.
It was still a few minutes before the orthodox hour, but the
conversation had reached a point when a distraction would be welcome,
and Jack and Patsie were invariably prancing with impatience from the
moment when the smell of hot potato cakes ascended from below.
They came with a rush, pattering down the staircase with a speed which
made Bridgie gasp and groan, and bursting open the door entered the room
at the double. Jack was five, and wore a blue tunic with an exceedingly
long-waisted belt, beneath which could be discerned the hems of
abbreviated knickers. Patricia was three, and wore a limp white frock
reaching to the tips of little red shoes. She had long brown locks, and
eyes of the true O'Shaughnessy grey, and was proudly supposed to
resemble her beautiful aunt Joan. Jack was fair, with linty locks and a
jolly brown face. His mouth might have been smaller and still attained
a fair average in size, but for the time being his pretty baby teeth
filled the cavern so satisfactorily, that no one could complain.
Both children made straight for their mother, smothered her with
"Bunnie" hugs, and then from the shelter of her arms cast quick,
questioning glances across the fireplace. There was in their glance a
keenness, a curiosity, almost amounting to _awe_, which would at once
have arrested the attention of an onlooker. It was not in the least the
smiling glance of recognition which is accorded to a member of the
household on meeting again after one of the short separations of the
day; it resembled far more the half-nervous, half-pleasurable shrinking
from an introduction to a stranger, about whom was wrapped a cloak of
deepest mystery. As for Pixie herself she sat bolt upright in her seat,
staring fixedly into space, and apparently unconscious of the children's
presence.
Presently Jack took a tentative step forward, and Patsie followed in his
wake. Half a yard from Pixie's chair they stopped short with eager,
craning faces, with bodies braced in readiness for a flying retreat.
"Pixie!"
No answer. Still the rigid, immovable figure. Still the fixed and
staring eye.
"P-ixie!"