"I--I think I should!" she p.r.o.nounced judicially. "I liked you from the moment we met, and you've a good disposition. Dispositions are important in marriage. And I'm domestic; you like domestic girls, and it's convenient when you're poor. ... On how much a head would you expect me to keep house?"

But that was too much for Stanor's endurance; he seized her in his strong arms and shook her with a tender violence.

"Pixie, you little witch, don't be so blightingly matter-of-fact! I'm making you a declaration of love. Kindly receive it in a suitable fashion. ... A--a fellow expects a girl to be a little--er--sentimental and poetic, and--er--overcome, don't you know, not to begin at once to talk of _how much a head_!"

"I've never been proposed to before. You must excuse me if I make mistakes. I'm quite willing to be sentimental; I dote upon sentiment,"

declared Pixie in anxious propitiation. ... "Let's go back to where you were talking about me! Tell me _exactly_ what it is that you most admire?"

Stanor had been hoping for a little adulation for himself, but he gallantly stifled his feelings and proceeded to offer the incense which he believed would be most acceptable.

"Your character, darling. Your sweet and tender heart!"

"How nice," said Pixie flatly. She sat silent for a moment and then ventured tentatively, "_Not_ my personal charm?"

"_And_ your personal charm. Both! You've more personal charm than any girl I know."

This was something like! Pixie beamed content. At this moment she felt really "engaged," and agreed rapturously with all the encomiums which she had heard given to this happy condition. Success emboldened her to further flights.

"The first time you met me you didn't admire me then! My _appearance_, I mean! You remember you said--"

"I did. Yes! But you were so sweet in forgiving me that I admired you instantly for _that_!" cried Stanor, skilfully turning the subject to safer ground. "And when you're my wife, Pixie, you will seem the most beautiful woman in the world in my eyes. It is very unworldly of you to consent without asking more about my affairs, for I am a poor match for you, little one. It takes years for a man to make a decent income in business, and I have so little experience. My uncle has always promised to buy me a partnership in some good firm, but of course there would have to be some preliminary training. And if he did not ... approve..."

"But he _must_ approve; we must make him. We couldn't marry without his consent. He's been so good to you!"

"He has, uncommonly good; but when it comes to marrying, it's a fellow's own affair. I shall go my own way..."

"He's lame!"

"Dear little girl, what has that to do with the case in point?"

"Well, I think it has!" persisted Pixie obstinately. "It has to me. We must be nice to him, Stanor, and _make_ him be pleased, whether he wants to or not. ... Did you notice how naturally I called you 'Stanor'?"

"I did! Couldn't you manage to put something before it by way, of completion?"

"Nice Stanor! Handsome Stanor! Clever, sensible, discriminating Stanor!"

"Quite so," said the discriminating one dryly, "but I should have liked--" Suddenly he burst into a ringing boyish laugh. "This is the _rummiest_ proposal that was ever made!"

Pixie looked anxious.

"Is it? 'Rum'? What exactly does 'rum' mean, applied to a proposal?

It didn't sound approving. It's my very own proposal, and I won't have it abused. I've enjoyed it very much. ... I think we shall be very happy, Stanor, when we are married and settled down in our own little house."

Stanor looked at her keenly, and as he looked he sighed.

"Dear little Pixie," he said gently, "I hope we shall!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

ESMERALDA IS TROUBLED.

"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 p.r.o.nounced 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 n.o.bility 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.

"_Pet.i.te lapin! Pet.i.te cherie! Pet.i.te ange_! Comfort thyself, Madame," she sobbed, "we can have gla.s.ses 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 _pet.i.t 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 pa.s.sed. 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 a.s.sets 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 G.o.d 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!"