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, it _is_ like
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 moment of 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 so _triste_ by myself in the
_salon_, 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. Therese has already prepared for my return.
There was nothing to do but lay the things in the box and drive away."
"And what did Therese say to it all? How did she and Pere 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 Pere 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.
"It _is_ thin! 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 Therese 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 a _jeune fille_ in 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. _Helas le miserable_! 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 of _jeunes
filles_ on 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 Therese 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 were _fiancee_.
They thought you were very old, and must be going to _coif_ Saint
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.