"Very nice! So convenient! It looks most comfortable!"

Bridgie's voice sounded formal and ill-at-ease, and both sisters felt the position a trifle strained, and were unaffectedly relieved to see Pixie strolling towards them at this critical minute.

She was smiling to herself as at a pleasant remembrance, and lost no time in entering into conversation.

"I don't know how it is about butlers--they all love me!" she announced thoughtfully. "The Wallace one turns his back to the sideboard when I talk, and the vegetable-dishes wobble when he hands them round. He tries hard not to laugh, because it's rude for servants to see a joke, but he really appreciates them frightfully much. Your one has whiskers, too, and isn't he pleasant to talk to? Not half as proud as he looks.

We have just been talking about the basket, because he'd got chickens already, and he asked what he should do with ours. I said we'd take it back, of course, because it would be a treat to us to-night. That was quite right, wasn't it, Bridgie?"

"Yes, darling, perfectly right!" said Bridgie.

Esmeralda frowned, bit her lip, and finally succ.u.mbed, even as the butler had done before her, and laughed with a good grace. She hugged Pixie, and Pixie hugged her back, and chattered away so freely and naturally that it was impossible for restraint to live in her presence.

Esmeralda as usual avoided a formal apology, but when Geoffrey arrived and the little party were seated round the luncheon-table, she made the _amende honorable_ by telling him of the basket incident in the presence of three men-servants with as much unction as if it had given her the most unmitigated delight.

"Thank you, Bridgie, you _are_ a brick! How jolly of you to have taken so much trouble! If I'd known of that chicken before I began lunch, nothing would have induced me to eat anything else!" cried Geoffrey heartily.

There was no sn.o.bbishness about him at any rate, and to judge from the glance which his wife cast upon him it was evident that she was quite able to appreciate a quality that was lacking in her own composition.

They seemed very happy together, this young husband and wife, and as Bridgie saw them smile at one another across the table, for no other reason than pure happiness and content in each other's presence; when Esmeralda announced "Geoffrey says," as the definite conclusion of any argument, and Geoffrey said quietly, "Esmeralda likes it!" as though the fact debarred all further discussion--when she heard and saw all this, the pain which was so bravely buried in Bridgie's heart seemed to take a fresh lease of life, and stab her with the memory of dead hopes.

It was not that she envied Esmeralda her happiness--Bridgie had none of the dog in the manger in her composition--but she felt suddenly oppressed by loneliness and a sense of want, which the quiet home-life failed to satisfy. Once she had imagined that this happiness would be hers in the future, but that hope was dead, and it did not seem possible that it could ever come to life again. Even if by chance she met d.i.c.k Victor in the future, what explanation could he have to offer which would wipe away the reproach of that long silence? Bridgie hoped they might never meet; it would be too painful to see her idol dethroned from his pedestal.

"Are they worth a penny, dear? I've asked you the same question twice over!" cried Esmeralda mischievously, and Bridgie came back to the present with a shock of remembrance.

"I was wool-gathering again. So sorry! What did you want to know?"

"I was talking about our invitations. Do you want any cards for friends? Is there anyone whom you would like me to ask?"

"Lottie Vane, please, and Mr and Mrs Wallace," cried Pixie eagerly, and Esmeralda smiled at the first name, and frowned at the second. She remembered having seen the Vanes at a school festival, and being favourably impressed by their appearance, but the name of Wallace was still repugnant to her ears, and could not be heard unmoved.

She did not care, however, to appear ungracious in Geoffrey's presence, and reflected that it might be judicious to impress Pixie's employers with the grandeur of the O'Shaughnessy family, and thus nip in the bud any ideas of patronage. A moment later she was thankful that she had made no objections, as Sylvia Trevor's name from Bridgie's lips convinced her that here at least a stand must be made.

"Oh, my dear, it is no use asking Miss Trevor. She is lame, and I shall have enough to do without looking after invalids."

"She would come with us, and we would take care of her. The boys are so fond of Sylvia. They'd think it a pleasure!" pleaded innocent Bridgie, all unconscious of the fatal nature of her argument, and Esmeralda frowned again and said impatiently--

"She'd much better stay at home. Crowded rooms are no place for people who need such care."

"No, but that is all the more reason why she should get what enjoyment she can. She would love one of the receptions you spoke of, when you will have music and other entertainments, and her limp can scarcely be noticed now. She would be no trouble to you. You asked her to visit you in Ireland, Esmeralda!"

"'Deed I did, and she snubbed me for my pains. I don't like Miss Trevor, and I don't mean to give her the chance of refusing any more invitations."

Bridgie looked aghast, as well she might, and made no attempt to hide her discomfiture.

"But--but I told her you would! I made quite sure of it, and told her she would have such a good time. The poor girl is counting upon it."

"And she is Bridgie's friend. Bridgie wants to bring her. That settles the question surely!" said Geoffrey quietly. He looked across the table with uplifted brows, and, wonder of wonders, Esmeralda blushed, and murmured vaguely about being "much pleased."

"What a mercy it was that Geoffrey was at home! But oh, if you love me, Pixie, never, never let Sylvia guess that we had to plead for her invitations!" pleaded Bridgie earnestly, as the two sisters made their way home an hour later on.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

AN "AT HOME."

Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, there is no hall mark of sincerity to distinguish one invitation from another, and the printed cards which were in due time received by Sylvia Trevor differed in no respect from those sent to the most favoured of Esmeralda's guests.

Fortunately also the remarks with which invitations are received are not overheard by the prospective hostess, else might she often feel her trouble wasted, and repent when it was too late.

Mrs Hilliard's fashionable acquaintances yawned when they received her cards, and exclaimed, "Another engagement for Thursday! We shall have to accept, I suppose, but it's a dreadful nuisance! We can just look in for a quarter of an hour on our way to Lady Joan's dance;" and unfashionable Sylvia pursed up her lips and remarked to herself, "Humph!

I suppose she wants to dazzle me with the sight of her splendours.

Much 'pleasure' my company will give her! I shall go, of course. I don't think I _could_ stay quietly at home and play cribbage, and know that Bridgie and the boys were driving away, and that I might have been with them. Yes, I'll go, and I will get a new dress for the occasion--a beauty! Dad said I might be extravagant once in a way, without emptying the exchequer; and he would like me to look nice. Perhaps Bridgie will go to town with me and help me to choose. It is nice to have some excitement to look forward to. What with typhoid and--Jack,--this has been the dullest winter I ever knew."

The advent of the Hilliards did indeed make a great difference to the two quiet households in Rutland Road. Esmeralda was too much occupied with her guests to pay many visits in person, but she appeared at intervals, leaning back against the cushions of the carriage, and looking like some wonderful princess out of a fairy-tale, and as far removed as possible from the good ladies of the neighbourhood.

The coachman would draw up before the door of Number Three, the footman would throw open the door, and Mistress Esmeralda would saunter up the little garden, dragging yards of chiffon and lace in her train, and acutely, delightfully conscious of the heads peering from behind the curtains on either side of the road. Acknowledged beauty as she was, her advent caused a greater sensation in this suburban district than among her own a.s.sociates, and though she affected to despise its demonstrations, they were yet very dear to her vain little heart.

Sometimes the two sisters were spirited away to lunch or a drive in the Park, and on their return would adjourn into Number Six, and entertain Miss Munns and her niece with the story of their adventures. There was a party every single day at Park Lane--t.i.tled creatures, and "men who did things," as Pixie eloquently explained, and Miss Munns recognised every name as it was repeated, and inquired anxiously concerning clothes, if the celebrity were of the female s.e.x, concerning manner and choice of eatables, if he were a man.

Once, too, before the date of the formal invitation, Sylvia herself was invited to accompany her friend to an afternoon reception, when she beheld the fabled glories with her own eyes. Never before had she entered such a house, or met so distinguished a company, but not for worlds would she have allowed her surprise to be visible to Esmeralda's eyes. The fashionable expression, she noticed, was one of bored superiority, so she looked bored and superior too, refused offers of refreshments which she was really longing to accept, and lounged from one room to another with an abstracted air, as if unconscious of her surroundings. All the same she felt very lonely and out of her depth, for Bridgie was helping her sister to receive her guests, and Pixie as usual roaming about in search of adventure.

It is very difficult to sit alone in a crowd and keep up an appearance of dignity, and Sylvia was grateful when a girl of her own age took possession of the chair by her side, and began to talk without waiting for the formality of an introduction. She was a pleasant-looking, much- freckled damsel, with a wholesome, out-of-door atmosphere, which distinguished her from the other ladies present, and she seemed for some reason quite interested in Sylvia Trevor.

All the time that they talked the honest blue eyes--studied the little clear-cut face of her companion, and though Sylvia was puzzled to account for the scrutiny, she was quite conscious of its presence, and anxious that the decision should be in her favour. She dropped her artificial airs and graces, and talked simply and naturally, asking questions about the different people present, and listening to the biographical sketches which were given in return, with much greater interest than was vouchsafed to her aunt's more humble reminiscences.

It was so interesting to meet a celebrated author in flesh and blood, and find that she talked about the weather like any ordinary stupid person; a statesman in whose hands lay the destiny of a nation, yet could discuss with seriousness whether he should choose pink cakes or white. So extraordinary to discover that this gorgeously-attired lady was plain Mrs Somebody, while the funny, shabby-looking old woman in black was a celebrated d.u.c.h.ess, whose name was a household word.

Sylvia understood now why Esmeralda had been so anxious to place this guest in the most comfortable chair, and had waited on her with such a.s.siduous care; she understood, too, why the d.u.c.h.ess herself wore an expression of patient resignation, and cast surrept.i.tious glances at the clock. Poor creature, these so-called amus.e.m.e.nts were the business of her life, and one was so much like another that it was impossible to get up any feeling of interest, much less amus.e.m.e.nt. She yawned behind her glove, and vouchsafed the briefest of answers to her companions; it was abundantly evident, in short, that the d.u.c.h.ess was bored, and as this was the first time that she had honoured his house by a visit, Geoffrey was naturally anxious that this state of things should not continue.

Esmeralda had done her utmost, but her airs and graces had failed to make any impression on one who had been acquainted with the beauties of the last fifty years, and there seemed no one present who possessed the requisite qualities to help him out of his difficulty. The d.u.c.h.ess was already acquainted with every visitor of note, and would not care to be introduced to insignificant nonent.i.ties.

Stay, though! What of the most insignificant of his guests? What of Pixie O'Shaughnessy, of the ready tongue, and the audacious self- confidence, which would flourish unchecked in the presence of kings and emperors? "Pixie for ever! Pixie to the rescue!" cried Geoffrey to himself, and promptly stole across to the room set apart for refreshments, where his small sister-in-law sat eating her fourth ice, waited upon with a.s.siduous care by her friend Montgomery.

"Pixie," he said, "there's an old lady in black sitting under the big palm in the yellow drawing-room and looking dreadfully bored! Just go and talk to her like a good girl, and see if you can amuse her a little bit before she goes."

"I will so!" responded Pixie heartily. "It's a very dull party when there's nothing to do but be pleasant. I was bored myself, before I began to eat. I'll leave the ice now, but maybe I'll venture on another by and by.--In black, you said, under the palm?"

She flicked a lapful of crumbs on to the floor, and pranced away with her light, dancing step. Geoffrey watched her from the doorway, saw her squeeze herself into the corner of the lounge on which the d.u.c.h.ess was seated, and gaze into her face with the broadest of broad beaming smiles, while the great lady, in her turn, put up a lorgnon and stared back in amazed curiosity.

"Well, little girl," said the d.u.c.h.ess, smiling, "and what have you got to say?"

"Plenty, thank you! I always have. Me difficulty is to find someone to listen!" replied Miss Pixie, with a confidential nod.

The old lady looked extraordinarily thin; the lines on her face crossed and re-crossed like the most intricate puzzle, her lips were sunken, and the tips of nose and chin were at perilously close quarters, but her eyes were young still, such sharp, bright little eyes, and they twinkled just as Pat's did when he was pleased.

"Talk to me, then. I'll stop you when I'm bored!" she said, and at that Pixie nodded once again.

"Of course. We always do. Jack stamps on me foot, and Pat snores, the same as if he were asleep. He says he is strong enough to hear a tale six times over, but he won't listen to it a seventh, to please man nor woman. Bridgie says jokes are one of the trials of family life, because by the time you've improved the points so that no one would recognise them for the same, your relations won't give you a hearing. It's a curious thing, when you think of it, that you get so exhausted with other people's stories, while you go on laughing at your own. Bridgie says you'll find fifty people to cry with you, for one who will sympathise about jokes. Have you found it that way in your experience?"