Esmeralda wheeled round to face the sofa and stared at the stranger with haughty scrutiny. Her flowing skirts seemed to fill the little room; her cloak was thrown back, showing a glimpse of costly sable lining; her imperious beauty made her appear older than the gentle Bridgie, a hundred times more formidable. The formal bend of the head brought with it an acute sense of discomfiture to the recipient. For the first time since crossing that hospitable threshold she realised that she was a solitary unit, a stranger set down in the midst of an affectionate family party, and if it had not been for the crippling foot, she would have rushed away to the haven of the room upstairs. As it was, however, she was condemned to lie still and return Esmeralda's commonplaces with what grace she might.

"I am pleased to see you," said Esmeralda's tongue. "What a nuisance you are!" said the flash of the cold grey eyes. "Such a pleasure for Bridgie to have a friend." "But now that I have arrived, you are not wanted any longer, and are terribly in my way!" One set of phrases were as intelligible as the other to the sensitive invalid, and if Esmeralda's antic.i.p.ations were dashed by her presence, she herself abandoned all prospect of enjoyment, and only longed to be able to return home forthwith.

Bridgie would not need her companionship any longer; she could be but a restraint and kill-joy in the conferences of newly-united sisters. She stared dismally at the floor, then looked up to see Jack carrying the tea-table bodily across the room and setting it down by her couch.

Sarah had brought in fresh tea and cakes for the refreshment of the travellers, and he motioned slightly towards his sisters, saying in an undertone,--"Bridgie will be incoherent for an hour. Will you come to the rescue? If we don't look after the tea, no one else will."

He smiled at her as he spoke, not sentimentally this time, but with a straightforward kindliness which showed that he had understood and sympathised with her embarra.s.sment. Occupation for hand and mind was the most tactful comfort which he could have administered, and Bridgie's eager, "Oh, thank you, dear! How good of you!" showed that she was indeed thankful to be relieved of every duty but that of talking to her sister and watching her with adoring eyes.

Sylvia's post was no sinecure, for everyone started tea-drinking afresh to encourage the travellers, and amidst the babble of voices Jack's _sotto voce_ explanations made the conversation intelligible, and took away the feeling of being left out in the cold. At a touch of real sympathy the false sentiment had disappeared, and her heart warmed towards the young fellow for his kindly concern for her comfort. It was a bond of union also to remember that he himself was apt to resent the incursions of this domineering young matron, and she noted with delight that, while Bridgie was apparently delighted to be trampled underfoot, he was ready and able to hold his own.

"We came over in a rush, and arrived only two hours ago. I'm a disreputable object!" said Esmeralda, glancing complacently over her sweeping skirts, and arranging the immaculate frills at her throat.

"Geoffrey was in such a hurry to get off that he gave me no time to make myself decent."

"She had only an hour, poor thing, not a moment longer! She sent me flying off to look for trains and whistle for a hansom, and then kept me kicking my heels while she prinked before the gla.s.s, putting on her best dress and the newest hat to impress you with her magnificence. She is disappointed that you have not noticed them yet, that's why she pretends to be humble!" explained Geoffrey in self-defence, whereat his wife grimaced at him in a manner singularly undignified and eloquent. Then she glanced hastily across the room at Sylvia, looking so girlish, so abashed at having been discovered in her schemes, that Sylvia laughed involuntarily, and forgot the old offence.

"Husbands are such blighting creatures; they are always telling the truth upon you!" sighed Esmeralda sadly. "I intend to bring up Bunting to agree with all I say, and then there will be some chance of making an impression. He is left at home, for he is too young to miss us, and it was bad weather for moving a nursery.

"Now about to-morrow! We have arranged for you to spend the day with us, and have lunch and dinner in our private room. The servants can eat up your turkey, or it can wait until the next day. You must come to us directly after church. What train will you be able to catch?"

Bridgie knitted her brows and looked embarra.s.sed and distressed. The invitation could not, of course, be accepted, and it was thoughtless of Esmeralda to have given it under existing circ.u.mstances. Had not Sylvia been introduced as a convalescent, and did not her position on the couch prove that she was unable for a journey to town? It would make the poor dear so uncomfortable if she were cited as the obstacle; yet what other excuse could be made?

Esmeralda had travelled all the way from Knock for the pleasure of entertaining her brothers and sisters, and would not be lightly turned from her plans. Bridgie looked across the room, and met Jack's eyes turned upon her with a flash of indignation in their clear depths.

"Well, Bridgie, you can do as you like, but I give you full notice that I stay at home!" he said firmly. "I have never yet eaten my Christmas dinner in an hotel, and I never shall so long as I have a roof of my own to cover me. Choose between Esmeralda and me; I am the head of the family, and it is my privilege to play host on such occasions, but if the house is too small--if we are not grand enough for Mrs Hilliard--"

"Jack!" cried Esmeralda sharply. She pushed her cup on one side, and, springing across the room to her brother's side, laid her hands on his shoulders and shook him vigorously to and fro. "Come down this minute from that high horse! I won't be snubbed, when I've come all the way over from Ireland to see you. I thought you would like it, dear, because you enjoyed dining with us so much before, and we should have been quite private in our own room; but I don't mind where we are, so long as we are together. We will come and dine with you if you will ask us. I would far rather have stayed here altogether if you could have put us up!"

"We could stow you away, but we can't manage the retinue. Miss Trevor occupies the north-west Tudor corridor, and there is only Pixie's little den at liberty," said Jack, laughing, and recovering his complacency with wonderful quickness. "The servants' hall accommodation is also limited, and your maid and valet might not appreciate our _menage_. We had a very stylish pudding the other night. You might give Esmeralda the recipe, Bridgie."

Esmeralda listened to the history of the beeswax and macaroni with a joy tempered by regret.

"We never have anything so nice as that!" she sighed. "Never a bit of excitement as to how things will turn out. D'you remember the day when old Sukey mixed the lettuce with furniture cream instead of salad- dressing, and Major Denny was so polite, with a crust of bread under one end of his plate to let it drain down to the bottom, while he ate his meat high and dry at the top! 'Twas bad luck that none of us fancied lettuce that day, but kept pressing him to a second helping."

"Well, we will come here to-morrow morning, then. Don't stay away from church, for, truthfully, I would rather you were out when we arrived. I have some rather--large--Christmas presents which must be smuggled in un.o.bserved. I have some--er--preparations to make to-night, so we can't stay very long."

Half an hour later husband and wife took their departure, and after seeing them off, Jack came back into the drawing-room and stood by Sylvia's couch.

"Esmeralda invariably speaks before she thinks!" he said apologetically.

"There's a lot of pretence about her, but you will be astonished to find out what a good sort she is when you know her better."

Sylvia smiled with a whimsical twist of the lips. She thought that that prediction might apply to more than one member of the O'Shaughnessy family, and cherished a pleasant conviction that Jack's outburst of indignation had been more on her account than his own. He was not the type of man to stand on his dignity, and his quick glance into her face as Esmeralda gave her invitation had been eloquent of understanding.

His protest had saved her from a most distasteful position, and once again she felt a debt of grat.i.tude towards him.

CHAPTER NINE.

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.

Christmas morning was heralded by the luxury of a late breakfast, when no one need hurry off to town, and even Miles could satisfy the demands of appet.i.te without casting a thought to the time-table. Porridge, bacon, eggs and sausages laid the foundation of his meal, before he tackled marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh oranges and honey, accompanied by numerous draughts of tea and coffee, and finally by a cup filled with the united drainings of both pots, which he drank with obvious relish.

If it had been merry Pat who was so difficult to appease, there would have been no cause for astonishment, but Miles's rapt eyes and ethereal expression seemed to bespeak no stronger diet than moonbeams and mountain dew, and to hear him accompany his last mouthful with an eager, "When's lunch?" was a distinct shock to the visitor. Jack, too, had sustained a relapse into sentiment, and was only awaiting opportunity to wax melancholy and confidential. With a word of encouragement he would have stayed away from church to bear her company, but Sylvia was provokingly obtuse, and he went off looking unutterable reproaches with his "humbugging eyes."

Left to herself, Sylvia hobbled to the piano and sang Christmas hymns in a weak little voice, which wavered suspiciously towards the close.

Christmas is the day of all others when families are united, and it seemed hard that when she possessed just one beloved relation, he should be away off at the other end of the world. The strange house, the unusual silence, and her own inability to move about, added to the feeling of depression, and her thoughts turned towards Aunt Margaret with unusual yearning. The old lady was at times a sore trial to her niece's patience, but at least they had a claim on each other's affection; she was the dear father's sister, and her own legal guardian during his absence!

Sylvia wondered how the two ladies would pa.s.s their day--church in the morning as a matter of course; early dinner and reminiscences of the brougham and peach-houses; arrival of the postman with cards; renewed reminiscences and family histories of the various senders; one arm-chair at each side of the fire; two white caps nodding sleepily forward; two pairs of cashmere boots reposing on footstools. Arrival of tea and exchange of recipes and household experiences. Letters of thanks to valued friends for seasonable gifts. Supper of cold turkey and cocoa, with anecdotal references to Christmases of long ago. Mutual exchange of compliments, bed, nightcaps, and sleeping-socks.

Oh dear me! It all seemed very flat to one-and-twenty, and why should one girl have health and beauty, and brothers and sisters, and an adoring young husband into the bargain, and another be a solitary unit, with no one to cosset her and help her to bear her manifold infirmities?

Sylvia's tears were still rather near the surface, and she mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, and mopped them again, and then carefully dried them on a dry place, and craned forward to look in the gla.s.s and see if they looked very red and tell-tale. The bleared reflection had a wonderfully calming effect, and she limped to her couch and read persistently to distract her thoughts, until the peal of the bell announced the Hilliards' arrival. From her corner she could not see the doorway, but judging from the sounds of coming and going, of dragging heavy weights, of scurrying along the pa.s.sage, of whispered colloquies, and sudden explosions of laughter, it was evident that some great mystery was in the air.

Then the cab drove away, the dining-room door closed with a bang, she heard the furniture being dragged to and fro, and wondered how long it would be before the drawing-room was raided in its turn. For a quarter of an hour the conspirators remained shut up together, then Esmeralda came sailing into the room, all smiles and amiability.

"A happy Christmas to you, Miss Trevor! Excuse me for not coming in before, but I am so anxious to arrange my presents before the others come home from church. I want the easel from that corner, and I want you to promise faithfully that you won't come into the dining-room before you are allowed!"

"I can't walk so far without help. You are quite safe so far as I am concerned," said Sylvia regretfully, and Esmeralda looked at her with quick scrutiny.

"So bad as that! I didn't know. Is that why you have been crying?"

"No--oh no! I am used to that now. I felt a little lonely, that's all.

I wanted my father."

The beautiful face changed suddenly, the lips tightened, the eyes grew large and strained. There was a ring of pain in the clear voice.

"Is he dead?"

"No, no, only so far-away. At the other end of the world, in Ceylon!"

"You will see him again!" said Esmeralda shortly. She looked at the portrait of a handsome, reckless face which hung on the wall above the sofa, and drew a fluttering sigh. "That was my father. It is nearly two years since he had his accident, and I thought I could never be happy again. If I could write to him, if I could get his letters, and think that some day, it might be in twenty years to come, he would be back among us again, I should feel as if there was nothing else to wish for."

She sat down suddenly by the couch with an air of having forgotten all about the errand which had brought her into the room, clasped her hands round her knee, and began a series of disconnected childish memories, while Sylvia gazed spellbound at the beautiful, dreamy face, and wondered how she could ever have thought it cold and unfeeling.

"We were always such chums, from the time that I was a mite in pinafores. I remember his first explaining to me what happened when people died--how their bodies were put into the grave, while their souls went straight to heaven; but I didn't understand what a soul was, and I was frightened and cried out, 'Well, I won't go one step without my body!' I used to play tricks on him, and he would catch me up and carry me into his room, and say, 'Will you rather be poisoned, or buried alive?' and I would prefer the poisoning because it was chocolates out of the corner cupboard.

"He used to wake me in the mornings coming battering at my door, and singing, 'Come awake thee, awake thee, my merry Swiss la.s.s!' and when we were learning French fables from Miss Minnitt, we used to take arms, Bridgie and I, and walk up and down before him reciting, 'Deux compagnons presse d'argent!' It didn't make any difference whether he had the money or not--he always gave it to us.

"One day we were going for a picnic, and he walked on with the men, leaving me to drive after them in the cart with the provisions. There was only one thing he told me to remember, and that was just what I forgot--his camera, to take a special view which he'd wanted for an age.

Four miles from home it jumped into my mind, and I sat in misery the rest of the way. The Major laughed when I told him, and sympathised with me for my upset. 'You'll forget your own head next, and it will be a pity,' he said, 'for it's a very pretty one.'

"I hated to vex him just because he was so sweet about it. No one ever understood me as well as the Major, and when I was in a tantrum he would say, 'Think it over till to-morrow, my girl. If you are of the same mind then, we will discuss it together,' and, of course, I never did think the same two days running.

"When he was ill he used to lie looking at me, and his face was quite different from that in the picture--so sad and wistful. 'I've not done much in the way of training you, my girl,' he would say, 'but I've loved you a great deal. Maybe that will do as well. You are not one to stand a bridle.' He loved to have me with him; to the last he would stretch out his hand--"

Her voice quivered and stopped, and Sylvia sat with lowered eyes, murmuring incoherent condolences. Esmeralda's love for her dead father was very sweet and touching, but to the more reserved nature it seemed an extraordinary thing that she could speak so openly to a stranger, and in the twinkling of an eye change her mood from gay to grave.

The hands of the clock were approaching the hour when the rest of the family might be expected to return from church, yet there she sat dreaming over the past, and apparently absolutely forgetful of the demands of the present. Sylvia dare not risk a reminder which would seem in the last degree unfeeling, but presently the door opened, and Geoffrey Hilliard appeared on the threshold, looking round with anxious inquiry.

"Good morning, Miss Trevor. The compliments of the season." Then he looked at his wife, all incredulous and aghast. "My dear girl, what are you about? Do you know that at any moment Bridgie may be here? I thought you had come for the easel."