Geoffrey Hilliard and his two guests entered the drawing-room, and
Pixie's eyes turned to greet them with a smile. She was longing to talk
to each one of them in turns, and with her usual complacency was assured
that each would reciprocate the wish. But the next moment brought with
it a jar, for Geoffrey crossed the room to join his wife, and the two
younger men made a bee-line for the chair by the _other_ side of the
sofa, whereon Honor sat ensconced!
It was only a minute, less than a minute, before Stanor had established
a lead, and Mr Carr's deviation to the left was a triumph of smiling
composure; nevertheless, Pixie's sharp eyes had seen and understood, and
her heart felt a natural girlish pang. At twenty it is hard to accept
with resignation the part of second fiddle, and Pixie's generosity had
its limits--as whose has not? She had looked at Honor's pretty face and
costly gown, had heard of her wealth and independence with the purest
and most ungrudging pleasure, but when it became a case of superior
popularity, that was a very different matter! Positively, it was quite
an effort to twist her lips into a smile to greet Mr Carr, and it made
matters no better to perceive the artificiality of his response.
He was a man several years older than the handsome Stanor, and his type
of face was so essentially legal that his profession as barrister could
be guessed even before it was known. His chin was the most pronounced
feature of the face--it was really interesting to discover just how
assertive a chin could be. It was a prominent, deeply indented
specimen, which ascribed to itself so much power of expression that even
the eyes themselves played a secondary part. The tilt of it, the droop
of it, the aggressive tilt forward were each equally eloquent, and, one
felt sure, must make equal appeal to a British jury.
At this moment, however, there was no jury at hand--only Pixie
O'Shaughnessy, feeling very small and snubbed in her corner of the sofa,
and robbed for the moment of her accustomed aplomb by the blighting
consciousness that she was not wanted.
Robert Carr's chin was leaning very dejectedly forward; he would have
voted his companion a tongue-tied little bore if Stanor Vaughan had not
taken the opportunity of a moment when his host was absent from the
dining-room to recount her "sporting" forgiveness of his own _faux pas_.
"That's the right sort. I like that girl!" had been Robert's reply, and
the good impression was strong enough to withstand a fair amount of
discouragement.
So he discoursed to Pixie on the subject of pictures, of which she knew
nothing; and she switched the conversation round to music, of which he
knew less; and she cast furtive glances of longing towards the other
couple, who were laughing and chattering together with every appearance
of enjoyment, and he kept his eyes rigorously averted, while his chin
drooped ever lower and lower in growing depression. Later on the whole
party played several rather foolish games, of which Pixie had never
heard before, and in which she consequently did not shine, which was
still another depressing circumstance to add to the list.
When Esmeralda escorted her sister upstairs to bed she said blightingly,
"You were very dull to-night, Pixie. Were you shy, by any chance?
_Please_ don't be shy; it's such poor form!" which was not the most
soothing night-cap in the world for a young woman who had privately made
up her mind to take society by storm. Not since the first night in the
dormitory at Holly House had Pixie felt so lone and lorn as she did when
the door was shut, and she was left alone in the big, luxurious bedroom.
She stood before a swing mirror, gazing at her own reflection,
contrasting it with those of Esmeralda and Honor, and reflecting on her
sister's parting words.
"This," said she to herself, with melancholy resignation--"this is the
sort of discipline that is good for the young! At this rate I'll grow
so chastened that they won't recognise me when I go home." For a whole,
minute she stood mute and motionless, pondering over the prospect; then
the light danced back into her eyes, she shrugged her shoulders, and
composedly began her undressing.
The next day broke bright and warm, and after a leisurely breakfast the
four visitors strolled about for an hour, looking at the dogs and horses
and playing with the two small boys, who were making all the mischief
they could on the cedar lawn, while their French nurse looked on with
sympathetic enjoyment.
Marie was quite a character in the household, and was admitted to a
degree of intimacy rarely accorded to an English domestic. She was that
somewhat unusual combination, a Parisian Protestant, but in other
respects remained one of the most typically French creatures who was
ever born. Meet her in any quarter of the world, in any nation, in any
garb, and for no fraction of a moment could the beholder doubt her
nationality. She was French in appearance, in expression, in movement,
in thought, in character, and in deed; lovable, intelligent, vivacious,
easily irritated, but still more easily pleased, sharp of tongue, tender
of heart, and full to overflowing with humour. In appearance Marie was
small and slight, with a sallow complexion which was the bane of her
life, black hair and beautiful white teeth. No one could call her
handsome, but she had certainly an attraction of her own.
This morning Pixie arrived upon the scene in time to overhear a typical
conversation between the nurse and her two charges. Geoff, the elder of
the two brothers, a handsome, imperious youngster, having overheard a
chance remark as to his own likeness to his mother, was engaged in a
rigorous cross-questioning of Marie, on the subject.
"Marie, am I beautiful?"
"Leetle boys are not beautiful. It is enough when they are good."
"My mother is beautiful. Mr Carr says I am like my mother."
"Ugly people can be like beautiful people. How can a dirty little boy
be like a _belle grande dame_? Regard thy hands! Four times already
have they been scrubbed."
"My hands can be clean when I like. I was talking of if I was
beautiful."
"Silence, miserable one! The appearance is of no account," pronounced
Marie boldly. "To be good is better than beauty."
Geoffrey drew his brows together in a frown. He was displeased, and
when he was displeased he made himself felt.
"I should fink, Marie," he said deliberately, "that you must be the
goodest person in all the world."
The inference was plain, so plain that sensitive little Jack coloured up
to the roots of his hair. Jack was the sweetest and most lovable of
children--a flaxen-haired cherub, whose winning face and gentle ways
made him universally beloved. Among the children of the second
generation he stood out pre-eminently, and every one of his aunts and
uncles enshrined him in a special niche of affection. Pixie had known
many searchings of heart because of her own partiality, but was fain to
console herself by the thought that Jack was even more like the beloved
Bridgie than Bridgie's own sturdy, commonplace son.
As for Jack, he loved everybody, Marie among the number, and, feeling
her depreciated, rushed stutteringly to the rescue.
"Oh, Geoff!" he cried eagerly. "You souldn't! You souldn't, Geoff! I
know somefing that's uglier than Marie--"
Geoff's scowl deepened. He might insinuate, but a barefaced putting
into words outraged his feelings. His eyes sent out flashes of
lightning at the innocent little blunderer, but Marie's eyes shone; her
face was one beam of tender amusement.
"What then, _cherie_? Tell thy Marie!"
"M-monkeys!" lisped Jack.
The roar of derision which greeted this consolatory statement brought
the startled tears into Jack's eyes, but Marie's arms wrapped round him,
and her voice cooed in his ear.
"Little pigeon! little cabbage! Weep not, my darling! Marie does not
laugh. Marie understands. It is true! The monkeys are more ugly than
I."
Pixie turned, to find Esmeralda standing beside her, her brows frowning,
while her lips smiled. She put her hand through her sister's arm and
drew her away.
"Leave them alone; Marie manages them best. Poor, weeny Jack! He meant
so well!" She drew a long sigh. "Those two boys are just a newer
edition of their parents. Little Jack is Geoffrey over again--just the
same kind, patient, sensitive disposition; and Geoff is me. When he is
in one of his moods it's like looking at myself in a mental glass. I'm
furious with him for showing me how hateful I can be, and at the same
time I understand what he is feeling so well that my heart nearly breaks
with sympathy. It's terrible to feel that one is showing a bad example
to one's own child, when one cares so much that at any moment one would
be willingly flayed alive to do him good!"
"Improve your example, me dear--wouldn't that be simpler!" cried Pixie,
with an air of breezy common sense which was in startling contrast to
the other's tragic fervour.
There was a time for everything, Pixie reflected, and it did _not_ seem
a judicious moment for a hostess to indulge in heroics, what time the
members of her house-party were advancing to meet her with faces
wreathed in expectancy. They made a goodly picture in the spring
sunshine--the little trim girl and the two tall men attired in the easy
country kit which is so becoming to the Anglo-Saxon type. The young
hostess looked at them and gave a start of recollection.
"Oh, of course! I was forgetting. ... We have been arranging a picnic.
Geoff has ordered the big car for eleven. He is to drive us a
twenty-mile spin to the beginning of Frame Woods. The chauffeur will go
on by train and meet us there, to take the car round by the high-road
and meet us a few miles farther on with the hampers. The woods are
carpeted with primroses just now, so we shall enjoy the walk, and it
will give us an appetite for lunch."
Pixie gave a little prance of jubilation.
"Lovely! Lovely! I adore picnics! We'll gather, sticks to boil a
kettle, to make tea, and boil eggs, like we used to do at home when any
one had a birthday. And the sticks always fell in, and the water got
smoked!"
Honor and the two men had joined the sisters by this time, and stood
looking on with amusement.
"Miss O'Shaughnessy seems to appreciate smoked tea," said Stanor, and
Pixie sturdily defended her position.
"I don't; it's hateful! But you can have _nice_ tea every day, of your
life, and the game _is_ worth the candle! You can always pour it away
and drink milk, and you've had all the fun--gathering the wood, and
stoking, and looking at the smoke, and the blaze, and hearing the
crackle, and smelling the dear, _woody_ smell--"
"And blacking your hands, and spoiling your temper, and waiting for--how
many hours does it take for a watched kettle to boil?--and in the end
throwing away the result! You're easily pleased, Miss O'Shaughnessy!"
"I _am_, praise be!" assented Pixie, with a fervour which brought four
pairs of eyes upon her with a mingling of interest and admiration.
So far as features were concerned, it was a plain little face on which
they gazed; yet no one could have called it plain at that moment, for,
it was irradiated by that rarest of all beauties, an expression of
radiant contentment. In comparison with that face those of the
beholders appeared tired and discouraged, old before their time, by
reason of drooping lips, puckered brows, and wrinkled foreheads; and it
was evident that they themselves were aware of the fact, and stood, as
it were, as amateurs before a master. Robert Carr poked forward his
chin, and stared at her between narrowed eyes. Handsome Stanor smiled
approval, Honor slipped a little hand through her arm, and Esmeralda
sighed and frowned, and said with a shrug--
"Oh, we've lived past that, Pixie! Nowadays we take thermos bottles,
and luncheon baskets, and hot-water dishes, and dine just as--
uninterestingly as we do at home! English people wouldn't thank you for
a scramble. You must wait until you go back to Knock to Jack and
Sylvia, and even there the infection is creeping. Jack is developing
quite a taste for luxury."
"I like it myself. Dear Mrs Hilliard, please let us have luxuries
to-day!" Stanor pleaded; and Joan turned back to the house to
superintend arrangements, while the four young people sauntered slowly
about the grounds. Honor's hand still rested on Pixie's arm, and her
voice had a wistful tone as she said--
"I'd like to fix a picnic _your_ way some time, Pat-ricia! It would be
a heap more fun. It must be fine to be a large family and make believe
together. It's a problem for an only child to make mischief all by
itself. ... Did you have real good times in that old castle with the
funny name?"
"We did!" affirmed Pixie eloquently. "There were so many of us, and so
little to go round, that we were kept busy contriving and scheming the
whole time, and, when _that_ failed, falling back on imagination to fill
in the gaps. It's more comfortable to be rich, but it's not half so
exciting. When you have very few things, and wait an age for them, it's
thrilling beyond words when they _do_ arrive. When Bridgie re-covered
the cushions in the drawing-room we all came to call in a string, and
sat about on chairs, discussing the weather and studying the colour
effects from different angles. Then we turned on the light and
pretended to be a party. I suppose Esmeralda never _notices_ a
cushion!"
Pixie sighed, and Honor stared, and Robert Carr looked from one to the
other, his thin lips twitching in sarcastic fashion.