"Engaged!" cried Esmeralda shrilly. "Engaged! You! To Stanor Vaughan?
Pixie O'Shaughnessy, I never heard such nonsense in my life."
"Then you've listened to an uncommon amount of sense. I should not have
thought it, to judge from your actions," returned Pixie, nettled,
"'Twould be interesting to hear what strikes you as so ridiculous about
it!"
It was three days after Stanor's unexpected visit with its momentous
consequences, but in consideration of the anxiety of Jack's parents, the
news had been withheld until the boy had been pronounced out of danger.
Only this morning had the glad verdict been vouchsafed. Jack would
live; given a steady, even improvement, with no unforeseen
complications, he would live, and in a few weeks time be up and about
once more. The eye trouble would be more lasting, for the child was of
a peculiarly sensitive nature, and the shock seemed inclined to localise
itself in the eyes. The sight itself would be saved, but for some years
to come it would need the most careful tending. He must wear darkened
spectacles; be forbidden to read; be constantly under skilled care.
Given such precautions the sight would probably become normal in later
years...
When the first verdict was given, the father, and mother clung to one
another in an ecstasy of relief and thankfulness. Throughout those last
terrible days, when every conscious breath had carried with it a prayer,
Joan had looked deep into her own soul and beheld with opened eyes the
precipice on which she stood. How far, how far she had travelled since
those early married days, when, with her first-born in her arms, her
highest ambition had been that she should be enabled so to train him
that he should grow up, to be, in the words of the beautiful old phrase,
"A soldier of Christ!" Of late years she had had many ambitions for her
boys, but they had been ambitions of the world, worldly. The old faith
had been gradually neglected and allowed to sink into the background of
life. In her own strength she had walked, in her own weakness she had
failed. Yet now, in default of punishment, goodness and mercy were once
more to be her portion! All the nobility in Joan's nature rose up as
she pledged herself afresh to a new--a higher life! Jack would live,
their boy would live--that was for days the one thought of which the
parents were conscious. For the father it was perfect joy, but for the
mother there still remained a pang. Only Esmeralda herself ever knew
the anguish of grief which she endured on account of her baby's altered
looks. Little Jack, with his angel face, his halo of curls, his
exquisite, innocent eyes, had been a joy to behold. Waking, sleeping,
merry, sad--at one and every moment, of his life the mere sight of him
had been as an open sesame to the hearts of those who beheld. The knife
turned in his mother's heart at the thought of _Jack_ shorn, scarred,
spectacled. She dared not confide her grief to her husband. He would
not understand. _Looks_! What could looks matter, when the child had
been delivered from death? Joan could see in imagination the expression
on his face, hear the shocked tones of his voice; she would not betray
her feelings and risk a break of the new, sweet understanding between
them. All men were alike. There were occasions when only another woman
could understand.
Joan went upstairs to the empty nursery and found Marie weeping in her
chair.
"_Petite lapin! Petite cherie! Petite ange_! Comfort thyself,
Madame," she sobbed, "we can have glasses like the young American--she
who visited Madame last year. No rims hardly to be observed! And the
hair--that will grow--of a surety it will grow. A little long upon the
forehead, and _voila_! The scar is hid. ... A little care, Madame, a
little patience, and he will be once more our _petit amour_!"
"Marie," said her mistress firmly, "looks are a secondary affair. We
ought to be too thankful to _think_ of looks!"
"_C'est vrai_, Madame," replied Marie demurely, "_C'est vrai_," and Joan
Hilliard went back to her room with a lightened heart, and determined to
write at once to town to ask particulars concerning rimless spectacles.
And now here was Pixie, with this preposterous, ridiculous tale! At
sight of her young sister Joan had felt a pang of contrition. She had
forgotten all about her these last terrible days. Poor girl! She must
have been terribly lonely, but that was the best of Pixie--she was
always ready to forgive and forget. Joan kissed her warmly, murmured
apologies, and inquired affectionately how the long days had been
passed. And then--out it came!
"Why ridiculous?" echoed Joan. "My dear, how could it be anything else?
Five days ago, when we were all together, there wasn't a sign of such a
thing. Stanor was attracted by you, of course; but he was not in love.
He was always cheerful, always merry. How different from poor Robert,
who is eating his heart out for Honor Ward!"
"I hope," said Pixie deeply, "that Stanor will always _keep_ cheerful.
It won't be my fault if he does not. No man shall `eat his heart out'
for me if I can help it!"
Joan glanced at her quickly. She had caught the tone of pain in the
beautiful voice, and softened to it with instant response.
"Yes, dear, of course. You'd never flirt, you're too honest, but, all
the same, Pixie, I stick to my opinion. I don't believe for a moment
that Stanor Vaughan is in love with you, and I'm positively sure that
_you_ are not in love with him!"
"Can you look into my heart, Esmeralda, and see what is there?"
"Yes, I can. In this instance I can. Fifty times better than you can
yourself. You are pleased, you are flattered, you are interested. You
were miserable and lonely, (that's my fault, for leaving you alone. I
don't know what Bridgie will say to me!) and Stanor was sorry for you,
you appealed to his chivalry, and you were just in the mood to be swept
off your feet, without realising what it all meant. Pixie, when you
told me just now, you were quite calm, you never even blushed!"
"I don't think," reflected Pixie thoughtfully, "I ever blushed in my
life."
It occurred to her uncomfortably that Stanor also had noticed the
omission, and had felt himself defrauded thereby. She wondered uneasily
if one could _learn_ to blush!
As for Esmeralda, the words carried her back in a rush to the dear days
of childhood, when the little sister had been the pet and pride of the
family. Indeed, and Pixie had had no need to blush! Her very failings
had been twisted round to pose as so many assets in her favour, while
her own happy self-confidence had instilled the belief that every one
wanted her, every one appreciated. What cause had Pixie O'Shaughnessy
to blush?
"Mavourneen!" cried Esmeralda tenderly, "I know. Thank God you've never
needed to blush or feel afraid, but, Pixie, when love comes, it's
different, everything is different! It's a new birth. The old
confidence goes, for it's a new life that lies ahead, and one stands
trembling on the brink. ... If what you feel is the right thing, you'll
understand. Pixie, dear, do I seem the wrong person to talk like this?
You know how it has been with us. We drifted apart--Geoff and I--so far
apart that I thought ... I can't talk of it--you know what I thought--
but, Pixie think! If the feeling between us had not been the _real_
thing, if we had married on affection only, where should we have been
now? Geoffrey loved me so much that he bore with me, through all these
years of strain, and when this great trouble came, he forgave me at
once, forgave everything, blotted it right out, and thought of nothing
but how to help me most. A cloud had rolled up between us, but it was
_only_ a cloud, the love was there all the time, hidden, like the sun,
ready to shine out again. ... Oh, Pixie, dear, the right thing is so
wonderful, so grand, that I can't let you miss it for the sake of a
mistake. You are so young. You don't understand. Let me write to
Stanor to-night and tell him it's a mistake, that you didn't know your
own mind!"
"You may talk till doomsday, Esmeralda," said Pixie quietly, "but I
shall keep my word!"
Mentally Pixie had been deeply impressed by the other's confidences, and
not a little perturbed thereby, but it was against her sense of loyalty
to allow such feelings to appear. To her own heart she confessed that
she was altogether without this strange sense of elation, this
mysterious new birth which Esmeralda considered all important under the
circumstances. She was certainly happy, for with Stanor's coming the
cloud which had hovered over the house had begun to disperse. She had
opened her own eyes to the good news of Jack's first sleep, and each day
the improvement had continued, while Stanor motored over, to sit by her
side, cheering her, saying loving, gentle things, building castles in
the air of a life together. ... Yes, she was _very_ happy, but ... she
had been happy before, there was nothing astoundingly, incredibly _new_
in her sensations.
Pixie sent her thoughts back into the past, endeavouring to recall
recollections of Joan's engagement, of Bridgie's, of Jack's. Yes,
certainly they had all become exceedingly different under the new
conditions. She recalled in especial Bridgie's face beneath her bridal
veil. Child as she herself had been at that time she had been arrested
by that expression: nor had she been allowed to forget it, for from time
to time during the last six years she had seen it again. "The _shiny_
look!" she had christened it in her thoughts. Sweet and loving were
Bridgie's eyes for every soul that breathed, but that one particular
look shone for one person alone! Pixie's heart contracted in a pang of
longing; it was almost like the pang she had felt in the drawing-room of
Holly House on that dread afternoon when the news of her father's death
had been broken to her--a pang of longing, a sore, sore feeling of
something wanting. She shivered, then drew herself together with
indignant remembrance. She was _engaged_! What sentiments were these
for an engaged girl? How could she feel a blank when still more love
was added to her share?
"If you talk till doomsday, Esmeralda, I'll keep my word. Stanor loves
me and says I can help him. I said I would, and, me dear, _I will_!
We've been through a lot of trouble this last week, isn't it a pity to
try to make more for no good? My mind's made up!"
Joan Hilliard was silent. In her heart of hearts she realised that
there was nothing more to say. Pixie was Pixie. As well try to move a
mountain from its place, as persuade that sweet, loving, most loyal of
creatures to draw back from a solemn pledge. Something might be done
with Stanor perhaps, or, failing Stanor, through that erratic person,
his uncle. She must consult with Geoffrey and Bridgie, together they
might insist upon a period of waiting and separation before a definite
engagement was announced. Pixie was still under age. Until her
twenty-first birthday her guardians might safely demand a delay. Joan
knew that Stanor Vaughan had had passing fancies before now, and had
little belief that the present entanglement would prove more lasting.
Circumstances had induced a special intimacy with Pixie, but when they
were separated he would repent.--If he himself set Pixie free! ... So
far did Joan's thoughts carry her, then, looking at the girl's happy
face, she felt a sharp pang of contrition.
"Me dear, I want you to be happy! If it makes you happy to marry
Stanor, I'll give you my blessing, and the finest trousseau that money
can buy. You're young yet, and he has his way to make. You'll have to
wait patiently, for a few years, until he can make a home, but it's a
happy time, being engaged. I feel defrauded myself to have had so
little of it. Storing up things in a bottom drawer, and picking up old
furniture at sales, and polishing it up so lovingly, thinking of where
it is going, and letters coming and going, and looking forward to the
time when he'll come down next--'tis a beautiful time. Three or four
years ought to pass like a trice!"
"Besides leaving plenty of time to change your mind. I know you, me
dear!" cried Pixie shrewdly. "I see through you! You'll be relieved to
hear that the date has not been mentioned, but you can start with the
trousseau as soon as you please. I'll take it in quarterly instalments,
and spin out the pleasure, besides sparing my friends the shock of
seeing me suddenly turn grand. My affianced suitor is coming to proffer
a formal demand for my hand. Will ye be kind to him now, and give him
some tea?"
"I will," said Joan readily. To herself she added: "We are all alike,
we O'Shaughnessys, we will be led, but we will _not_ be driven. It's no
use appearing to object! Things must just take their course..."