the_love_affairs_of_pixie.txt Part 26

"Oh, Pixie, there _is_! I saw it the first evening. I'd have spoken before, but Pat was so ill. Then I tried--you know how. I tried!--to send you away. I knew that every day was making it harder for him, more difficult to forget. I was so _sorry_ for him! Pixie, he is thirty-five, and has suffered so much. It's hard on a man when he gets to that age, and--"

"_Don't_!" cried Pixie sharply. She thrust out her hand once more, and cowered as if from a blow. "Bridgie, I can't bear it! Don't torture me, Bridgie. ... It _isn't_ true! You are making it up. Ah, Bridgie, it's because you love me yourself that you think every one must do the same! He's--Stanor's uncle ... Pat's friend--he was just kind like other friends. ... He never said a word ... looked a look." Suddenly, unexpectedly the blood flared in her face as memory took her back to the hour when she stood at the door of the flat and watched Stephen's abrupt descent down the flagged stairway. "Oh, Bridgie, are ye sure? Are ye _sure_? How are ye sure? It's so easy to be deceived! Bridgie, you've no _right_ to say it if you are not sure. I don't believe you! Nothing could make me believe unless he said--"

"Pixie, he has said!" The words fell from Bridgie's lips as though in opposition to her judgment she were compelled to speak them. "Pat was hurt that he was going; he reproached him to-night after we left; they had a discussion about it, and he said Stephen Glynn said that he daren't stay, he daren't see more of you. ... Pat does not think he meant to say it, it just--said itself! And afterwards he set his lips, and put on his haughty air, and turned the conversation, and Pat dared not say another word. But he had said enough. ... His face! ... his voice! ... Pat did not believe he could feel so much. He cares desperately, Pixie."

Pixie sat motionless--so silent, so motionless, that not a breath seemed to stir her being. Bridgie waited, her face full of motherly tenderness, but the silence was so long, so intense, that by degrees the tenderness changed into anxiety. It was unlike emotional Pixie to face any crisis of life in silence; the necessity to express herself had ever been her leading characteristic, so that lack of expression was of all things the most startling, in her sister's estimation. She stretched out her hand, and laid it on the bowed shoulder with a firm, strengthening touch.

"Pixie! Look up! Speak to me! What are you thinking, dear?"

Pixie raised her face, a set face, which to the watching eyes seemed apiece with the former silence. There seemed _no_ expression on it; it was a lifeless mask which had been swept of expression. As the blank eyes looked into her own and the lips mechanically moved, Bridgie had the sensation of facing a stranger in the place of the beloved little sister.

"I am honoured!" said Pixie flatly. "I am honoured!"

She rose slowly from the bed, moving stiffly as though the mere physical effort were a strain, and pa.s.sing by Bridgie's inviting arms walked over to the dressing-table and began to loosen her own hair.

"You have finished, Bridgie? I'm not in your way?" she asked quietly, and Bridgie faltered a weak "No!" and felt that the world was coming to an end.

Pixie silent; Pixie dignified; Pixie quietly but unmistakably holding her sister and guardian at arm's length, this was an experience petrifying in its unexpectedness! She had not spoken on the impulse of a moment; for days past she had been nerving herself to open Pixie's eyes. At the bottom of her heart had lain a dawning hope that such an opening might not be in vain, for Pixie had never really loved Stanor Vaughan. At the time of their engagement she had not even understood what love meant; during the years of their separation there had been nothing but an occasional letter to preserve his image in her mind, and when the allotted two years were over, Stanor himself had voluntarily extended his exile. Bridgie set her lips as she recalled a fact so hurtful to her sister's dignity. She heard again Pat's voice, echoing the sentiments of her own heart. "Tell her, Bridgie! She ought to know. He's worth a thousand of that other fellow. Don't let her throw away the substance for the shadow."

So she had spoken, and a new Pixie--a Pixie she had never even imagined in dreams--had listened, and made her reply. "I am honoured!" she had said, and straightway, sweetly, courteously, irrevocably, had closed the subject.

Bridgie bent her head and plaited her hair in the two long ropes which made her nightly coiffure. She was thankful of the employment, thankful of an excuse to hide her face; she listened to the ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece and asked herself what she should do next. The incredible had come to pa.s.s, and she, Bridgie, sister, guardian, married woman, mother of a family, was nervous in Pixie's presence! Not for any bribe that could have been offered would she have ventured to hint at that hope which she and Pat had shared in common.

Suddenly through the little flat rang the sound of the postman's knock.

The last of the many deliveries of the day had arrived, and Bridgie peeping out of the door spied a couple of white envelopes p.r.o.ne on the mat. She crept out to get them, thankful of the diversion, and was overjoyed to behold on one her husband's writing.

"One for me, Pixie, and one for you--an enclosure forwarded from home.

I'm so glad to get mine. It's nice for the postmen in London to have Sundays free, but we country people _do_ miss letters," she said glibly, as she handed Pixie her share of the spoil, and seated herself in the one comfortable chair which the room afforded, to enjoy to the full the welcome message from home.

Perhaps d.i.c.k had divined the double anxiety which was burdening his wife, perhaps he realised how long she would feel a Sunday without news, perhaps out of his own loneliness had arisen a need for words--in any case, that special letter was the longest and, to Bridgie's heart, the dearest which she had received since her departure from home. He told her of the children, and of their latest sayings; he told her of himself and his work; he comforted her, where she needed comfort, cheered her, where she needed cheer, called her by the sweet love names which she most loved to hear, and held before her eyes the prospect of a swift return. And Bridgie reading that letter thanked G.o.d for the thousandth time, because on her--undeserving--had been bestowed the greatest gift which a woman can receive--the gift of a faithful love!

Ten minutes had pa.s.sed before she had read and re-read her precious letter, but when she turned her head it was to find Pixie standing in the same position as that in which she had seen her last, gazing down upon a sheet of paper on which a few short lines were written in a masculine writing. At Bridgie's movement she raised her head, and spoke in a curiously low, level voice--

"It is from Stanor. He has sailed for home. Honor Ward and a party of friends were crossing, and he decided at the last moment to come with them. We shall see him on Thursday next."

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

STANOR COMES BACK.

It was Thursday morning. With the doctor's permission Pat's bed had been carried back to the minute apartment which was grandiloquently termed a "dressing-room." A sofa took its place in the dining-room, and with the aid of a stick he could walk from one refuge to another, and enjoy what--after the confinement of the past months--appeared quite an exciting variety of scene.

Bridgie Victor was still a joint occupant of the "best" bedroom, for since Pat refused to part with Pixie it was plainly the elder sister's duty to stay on over the important meeting with Stanor Vaughan. The modern girl scoffs at the idea of chaperonage, but the O'Shaughnessys were not modern. Bridgie felt the impulse to protect, and Pixie's piteous "_Stay_ with me, Bridgie!" marked the one moment of weakness which she had shown. So Bridgie remained in London, comforted by the knowledge that her husband was well and her children in good hands, and seldom in her life had five days pa.s.sed so slowly. Sunday itself had seemed a week long, the atmosphere strained and unreal, each member of the little party talking to pa.s.s the time, uttering plat.i.tudes, and discussing every imaginable subject under the sun but just the one which filled every mind. No need to bid Pixie to be discreet, to warn her not to sing, nor glance too frequently in a certain direction--a talking automaton could not have shown less sign of feeling.

As for Stephen Glynn, the news of his nephew's sudden return obviously came to him as a shock, but as a man of the world he was an adept in hiding his feelings, and though he curtailed his visit, so long as he was in the flat he exerted himself to preserve an ordinary demeanour.

His adieux also were of the most commonplace description.

"It's hardly worth while to say good-bye. We shall meet, we shall certainly meet before long. I will write to welcome Stanor, and you--"

he held Pixie's hand and looked down at her with an inquiring glance--"you will let me hear your--news?"

"I will," answered Pixie simply.

Bridgie would have given a fortune to be able to see what was in "the child's" head at that moment, to know what she was really thinking. The sisters walked together to the door, Pat, on his stick, bringing up the rear, and stood watching Stephen descend. Once and again he looked up, smiled, and waved his hand, and as he did so his eyes had the same piteous glance which Pixie had noticed on their first meeting. The expression of those upturned eyes hurt all three onlookers in different degrees, and sent them back to their little room with downcast looks.

"Now he'll bury himself in the country again and mope! It's been the making of him being here in town. Goodness knows what will happen to him now!" said Pat, dropping on to the couch with an impatient sigh, and Bridgie murmured softly--

"The dear, man! The dear man! So hard for, him to be alone. But you needn't be anxious, Pat. He's so _good_. He'll be looked after! ...

Don't you think, now, his eyes are the least thing in the world like d.i.c.k's?"

"Not the least least!" snapped Pixie, and that was her one contribution to the conversation.

And now it was Thursday--Thursday afternoon, within an hour, of the time fixed by telegram for Stanor's arrival. Pat had elected to stay in bed, in consequence of what he called headache and his sisters translated as "sulks." He didn't want to see the fellow. ... What was the fellow to him? Didn't know how the fellow had the face to turn up at all, after dawdling away an extra six months. Hoped to goodness the fellow would make short work of it and be off, as he wanted to get up for dinner.

In her heart Bridgie agreed with each sentiment in turn, but she felt it her duty to be stern and bracing.

"'Deed, and I hope so, too! Else I shall have to sit here, and you're not the best company. I'm your guest, me dear--if you haven't the heart to be civil ye might at least have the good manners! My little Jack would never dr-eam--"

"Little prig he must be, then," mumbled Pat; but the reproof went home, and he grumbled no more.

Just before the clock struck the hour Bridgie paid a flying visit to the little sitting-room to see that the tea-table was set, the kettle on the hob, the dish of hot scones on the bra.s.s stand in the fender, and everything ready to hand, so that no one need enter unless specially summoned. She found Pixie standing gazing into the fire, and started with surprise and disappointment.

"_Pixie_, your dress! That dull old thing? Why not your pink? Me dear, you've time. ... There's still time. ... Run off and change it!"

But Pixie shook her head.

"Bridgie, _don't fuss_!" she said, and there was a note in her voice which checked the words on Bridgie's lips. She literally dared not say any more, but her heart was heavy with disappointment.

She had been so anxious that Pixie should look her best for this important interview, had been so complacently satisfied that the rose-coloured gown was as becoming as it could be, and now the aggravating, mysterious little thing had deliberately left it hanging in the wardrobe, and put on instead an old brown dress which had been a failure at the beginning, and was now well advanced in middle age. One result of Pixie's sojourn in Paris had been an acquired faculty for making the best of herself: she put on her clothes with care, she wore them "with an air," she dressed her hair with neat precision, and then with a finger and thumb gave a tweak here, a pat there, which imparted to the final effect something piquant and attractive. To-day it appeared as if that transforming touch had been forgotten, and Bridgie, looking on, felt that pang of distress which all motherly hearts experience when their nurslings show otherwise than at their best.

"Are you not going to sit with Pat?" inquired Pixie at the end of a pregnant silence, and at that very obvious hint Bridgie retired perforce, repeating gallantly to herself, "Looks don't matter! Looks don't matter! They don't matter a bit!" and believing just as much of what she said as would any other young woman of her age.

Another ten minutes and the sound of the electric bell rang sharply round the flat. The door opened and shut, and Moffatt, entering the sitting-room in advance, announced loudly--

"Mr Vaughan!"

A tall, fair man entered with a rapid step. Pixie looked at him, and felt a consciousness of unutterable strangeness. This was not the man from whom she had parted on the deck of that ocean-bound steamer! This man was older, broader; the once lazy, laughter-loving eyes were keen and shrewd. His shoulders also were padded into the exaggerated square, characteristic of American tailors.

"Well--Pixie!"

Even the voice was strange. It had absorbed the American accent, the American clip and drawl. Pixie had the consciousness of struggling with stiffened features which refused to smile.

"Well--Stanor!"

He took her hand and held it in his, the while he stared down at her upturned face. His brows contracted, as though what he saw was more painful than pleasant. "I guess you've been having a bad time," he said. "I was sorry to hear your brother's been sick."

"He is better now," Pixie said, and gently withdrew her hand.