"But you are too old for such inelegant positions. You are almost grown-up now, and must learn how to behave. For goodness' sake get up before Geoff sees you! He is so very particular about nice behaviour in girls."

"'Twas a bad relapse for him when he married you!" muttered Pixie beneath her breath. She straightened herself slowly and let her feet slip to the ground, but Esmeralda realised that nothing but a direct request would convince her of the extraordinary fact that her absence was for once more desired than her presence. For obvious reasons such a request could not be made, and as the time was quickly passing nothing remained but to clothe her hints even more circumspectly than she had intended.

"I am so glad that your foot is really getting better," she said graciously to Sylvia. "Bridgie says the nurse is so pleased with its progress the last few days. You will be able to walk about soon, and then if you feel inclined for a change we shall be so pleased if you will come over to visit us. It is quiet at Knock, but I would drive you about, and the air is so delightful that I am sure it would do you good. You will hear all about the place from Pixie, so that it would not feel strange to you when you arrived, and we have a few nice friends within driving distance.

"She would like Mollie Burrell, wouldn't she, Pixie? That's a young girl who lives seven miles from us at Knock, but we think nothing of that distance in the country. She was always over at the Castle before Jack went away, and we used to say she felt like another sister. You remember how he used to drive over in the cart, and bring her back to surprise us?"

"I do so! And the afternoon when she went shopping into the post-office as they drove through the village, and Tim Hegan came up and began bidding for the old grey mare, and with that Jack took him into the cart and drove over to the farm, and never a thought of poor Mollie until the evening, when she cut him dead limping home through the mud. 'Twas a cruel thing to do, and the poor creature putting on new boots for the occasion to do him honour, and says Jack, 'I've done for myself this time! It would take a cleverer man than myself to twist that into a compliment!'"

"Oh, that's an old-world story!" cried Esmeralda, with her head in the air. Her cheeks had flushed despite her efforts for composure, and she was uncomfortably conscious that Sylvia was trying to restrain a smile at this most open contradiction of the implied attachment between Jack and his Irish neighbour. Her irritation urged her to stronger measures, and she said testily—

"It proves how little dependence can be placed upon Jack's promises. If he could forget Mollie, it is no wonder that he changes his mind every other day. But they made up that quarrel ages ago, and he was over there shooting in September and squiring her all over the county. You should not tell tales out of school, Pixie!"

"Was it me? I thought it was yourself. You began saying that they were such friends, and I thought maybe it would amuse Sylvia to hear—"

"So it does, Pixie. It amuses me extremely," assented Sylvia with an intentional emphasis, which made Esmeralda wince once more, for, however innocent the little sister might be, she felt convinced that Sylvia Trevor thoroughly understood her implied warning, and was by no means docile in her manner of receiving it. She sat up stiff and erect, smiling into space with an expression of scornful superiority which filled the beholder with unwilling admiration. In just such a spirit would she herself have accepted interference from the lips of a stranger. She recognised a kindred spirit, and realised that, putting Jack out of the question, Miss Sylvia Trevor would be a friend after her own heart.

The repeated invitation had in it a note of sincerity which had been wanting in the earlier rendering, but Sylvia only murmured, "Thank you!" in a politely non-committal manner, and shrank back so decidedly from the proffered kiss that there was no choice but to substitute a formal handshake in its stead.

The sisters drove off together to the station, and Sylvia was left alone to relieve pent-up irritation by making one impetuous resolve after another, to replace each the following moment by one diametrically different.

"Thank goodness, she has gone at last! I can't think how I ever could have liked her! I think I dislike her more than anyone I ever met. How dare she interfere with me! How dare she imply that I want to monopolise her precious brother! I shall never speak to him again as long as I live! I shall go home to-morrow, and take good care that I never come across when he is likely to be at home. Perhaps she has warned him too, as if he were not conceited enough already! He is worth a dozen of her all the same, and is far nicer than I thought at first. It's perfectly absurd to think a man and a girl cannot be in the same house for a week without falling in love with each other. I won't condescend to take the faintest notice of her insinuations. I shall be as nice as I like, and give up snubbing him from this minute. He can be engaged to fifty Mollie Burrells if he likes; that's no reason why I should not treat him civilly!"

In the hours which elapsed before the return of the sisters she had had time to change her mind a dozen times over, to write letters to Aunt Margaret and burn them in the fire, to invent scathing sarcasms by which poor Jack was to be reduced to a condition of hopeless subjection, and rehearse melting scenes when her womanly sympathy would soothe ruffled spirits and restore him to calm.

All uncertainty as to her conduct was, however, removed by the first glance at Jack's face when he returned home in the evening, for it bore the unmistakable marks of real anxiety, and the weary sigh with which he sank into his chair was something new to his vigorous manhood.

Bridgie bustled in with the tea which always awaited his coming, kissed him lightly, and hurried away to finish some letters. Pixie sat hunched up before the fire devouring a book, and Jack pushed his chair nearer Sylvia's couch, staring at her in a dumb, melancholy fashion which had in it something singularly beguiling. Despite his great height and muscular form, he looked so helpless and appealing, like a nice child who has lost a toy, or a big collie dog which turns pathetic eyes towards his master's face.

Sylvia smiled involuntarily, but it was a very friendly smile, and her voice had lost its mocking tone as she inquired—

"Well—what's the trouble?"

Jack put his cup on the table and leant towards her, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin supported on clasped hands. Pixie read on undisturbed, soft gurgles of laughter marking her enjoyment of sensational passages.

"I've had a blow," said Jack, "a ghastly disappointment! This is the day when the firm announces the various arrangements for the year, increases in salary and so on. I quite understood that I should come in for a substantial rise, if not a junior partnership. It was talked about when I joined four years back, and as nothing was done last January I made a certainty of it coming off now. Instead of that, I get nothing—nothing! No advance at all upon the payment of the last two years. I had it out with the partners this afternoon, and they seemed to think I had done unusually well. They implied that it was a piece of pure imagination on my part to have expected to be taken into the firm."

"But—I know nothing about business except what I have read—but is it not usual to have something written—a definite agreement which settles things without the possibility of argument? If you joined this firm with the idea of being made a partner, was not an agreement written down in black and white?"

Jack waved his hand in airy dissent.

"No, there was nothing definite, but we talked it over.—The old fellow certainly held out hopes for the future! I made so sure of a partnership that we took this house in the prospect of being able to pay for it out of my increased earnings. It's too expensive as it is for people brought up as we have been. I'm the most practical of the bundle, and with care and attention can make half a crown go almost as far as an Englishman's shilling; but Bridgie, bless her! wears herself out saving pennies, and throws away pounds with the best. In my father's time there was never any money to trouble about, so she got into the way of ordering things without thinking what they would cost, and it's a difficult plan to forsake. She's done her best, poor creature! I wouldn't blame her for the world."

"And—and will you have to leave the house?" Sylvia's heart sank drearily at the prospect. What if the O'Shaughnessys flitted away to a suburb at the opposite end of the city, and Number Three, Rutland Road was deserted once more, or tenanted by an ordinary, commonplace family, such as inhabited every other villa in the neighbourhood! After the sweet friendship of Bridgie, the fascinations of Jack, the audacities of the two boys, the witcheries of Pixie, and last but not least, the incursions of Esmeralda, exasperating, but to the last degree romantic and beautiful, Sylvia felt a shudder of distaste at the thought of a stout mamma and papa, one baby in a perambulator, another in a mail- cart, and a graduated line of school-boys and girls sallying forth daily to their appointed tasks. "Oh, I'm so sorry you will have to leave!" she sighed, and Jack smiled at her in grateful acknowledgment of her regret.

"I'm glad you are sorry, but I don't intend to leave. We have been here only four months, and I can't face another removal for—many reasons! We will have to squeeze along somehow until things look up. A crop of bills have come in during the last few days to make matters worse, and I will have to talk things over with Bridgie to-night. I hate to worry her, but there must be some system, or we shall find ourselves in the workhouse some fine day. And now there is the child to think of. She will be an extra expense!"

Sylvia glanced quickly across the room at the figure in the depths of the arm-chair. She sat motionless, her head bent over her book, but Pixie was one of those intensely alive little creatures who seem to infect their very surroundings with vitality. It seemed to Sylvia that the pages fluttered in agitated fashion, the bow of ribbon holding back her hair seemed of a sudden to stand out at attention, the knotted ends looked like two alert, curious ears at the back of her head.

How much had Pixie heard?



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A FAMILY COUNCIL.

That night after dinner Jack broke the news of his disappointment to the assembled family, who bore the shock with surprising resignation. Pat whistled, and said, "Just our luck! Ah, well, if it's no better, let's be thankful it's no worse!" Miles suggested cheerfully, "Why don't you chuck it and keep a shop? Then we should get all our food for nothing." And Bridgie's sigh turned into a smile as she cried, "What a blessing we took this house when we did! Now we should not have been able to afford it, and we should never have known you, Sylvia dear! It's funny, isn't it, to think that this little crib is too big for us?"

"Oh, awfully funny!" said Jack drily. He had opened the topmost drawer in the writing-table and taken out half a dozen red-backed books and a bundle of bills. "The fact remains that we shall have to spend at least a hundred a year less than we calculated if we want to keep out of the Bankruptcy Court. I don't know how it is, but I seem to have given the money for half these bills, and yet here they are again! I was perfectly horrified to see them. This coal bill, for instance,—I remember distinctly giving you two sovereigns one morning just as I was starting for town—"

Sylvia sat up hastily and fumbled for the stick by which she supported herself about the house. It seemed to her impossible that such intimate family affairs could be discussed before a stranger, but at the first movement Jack inquired eagerly where she was going, and both he and Bridgie laughed to scorn the idea of privacy. The presence of a stranger seemed indeed to whet their interest in the forthcoming discussion, which was conducted throughout with a cheerfulness and composure which contrasted strangely with Miss Munns's weekly lamentations over her tradesmen's accounts.

"'Deed, I remember quite well!" said Bridgie, referring to the money which had been given to her in settlement of the coal bill. "It was the morning the cat got lost in the oven, and all of us searching the house over because of the piteous mews of it. It crept in, Sylvia, when the door was open, after the bacon came out, and Sarah pushed it to as she passed, so the poor creature had a fine Turkish bath of it before we found her. Did I not pay the bill, after all? I suppose I was short of money for something else. It's wonderful the way it slips away when you are keeping house!"

Jack sighed and took up another paper from the table.

"There's another here. I know I gave you ten shillings to settle this ironmonger fellow. Eight and threepence! It's ridiculous running on bills for little sums like this."

"I paid it! I paid it!" cried Bridgie triumphantly. "I distinctly remember, because there is such a funny little man in the shop who says, 'What is your next pleasure, madam?' when you buy a box of tacks. I remember distinctly going in and paying something."

"Very well, then, you must have the receipt. Where have you put the receipt?"

Bridgie looked vaguely round the room, turned out the contents of her writing-pad, peeped into a drawer under the table, searched the bottom of the stocking-basket, the pocket of her dress, then stroked her chin meditatively, and said—

"Perhaps I was paying for something else! I remember now that I did buy a saucepan."

Jack sighed again, and paced up and down the floor, but he showed no signs of anger or even surprise, and his voice was quite apologetic as he said—

"I'm afraid you will have to be more methodical, dear, if we stay on in this house. We shall never know how we stand if bills keep coming in when we think they are settled. We had better hold a cabinet council and decide how much we can afford to spend in housekeeping and other departments, and cut our coat according to our cloth. It will be difficult after the way things went on at Knock, but it's our only chance. I tried to put down my private expenses this afternoon, and was horrified to find how heavy they were."

Bridgie cast an admiring glance upon him, and turned to Sylvia with an air of pride.

"Isn't he splendid, now, at his age, talking like an old man for wisdom and prudence! You may well say things are different from what they were at home, for there, if the worst came to the worst, you could always fall back on the pigs and the vegetables that grew for nothing at your door. The idea of paying fourpence for a cauliflower takes me heart out of me every time I go marketing, and the bacon is no sooner bought, than it is eaten. Well, I'm willing enough to learn method, but who's to teach me? Saving your presence, Jack, you're just a beginner yourself!"

Sylvia chuckled mischievously, and her eyes danced with amusement.

"There is a mistress in the art at your very door! Aunt Margaret would be enchanted to instruct you, and her housekeeping is a marvel of accuracy. She could tell you exactly how much she spent last year on soft soap, and the reason why it was more in ninety-six than in ninety- seven. She could walk about the house in the dark and put her hand on the blue-bag and the list of last week's washing. She makes lists of everything she possesses, from household linen to the Christmas cards which she sends out and receives. Her dresses last for best for four years before they are turned for afternoon wear, and two years later they are re-dipped for mornings. They have histories, like her relations, and make valuable Christmas presents to the charwoman on their eighth birthday. She thinks I am recklessly extravagant because my dresses are worn-out in a year!"

"I'll ask her to teach me at once! I'll begin making lists this very afternoon! I'll practise shutting my eyes and searching for the blue- bag," cried Bridgie ardently. "Jack dear, I'll be a model housekeeper, and save so much money that we shall be quite rich."

She was all smiles and complaisance, and sat down for the cabinet council with an unruffled brow, but, as we all know, it is more difficult to face one or two definite difficulties than an army of shadowy deprivations, and when the division of the family income made it necessary to subtract considerably from her housekeeping allowance, and to saddle her in addition with several outside expenses, Mistress Bridget sighed and showed signs of rebellion.

"Such a lot of trouble for such a trifling saving! 'Twill destroy me altogether to be fussing over every halfpenny. What would it matter if we were a trifle in debt at the end of the year? Geoffrey would pay a hundred pounds without knowing it, and be proud to do it into the bargain!"

"But I won't accept it. He has done quite enough as it is. He has paid for Pat's training, and will give him the agency as soon as he is ready to take it, and he paid for Pixie's lessons in Paris. I could not refuse what was good for them, but I'll keep my own house, or give it up altogether!" said Jack proudly, and Sylvia nodded her head in emphatic approval from her place of vantage on the sofa.

Pat and Miles also applauded the declaration of independence, and accepted their own share in the contemplated economies with unperturbed serenity, while Pixie sat solemnly in a corner, turning her eyes on the face of each speaker in turns, her shoulders heaving with suppressed emotion. Of all the members of the family it was evident that she took the present difficulty most seriously, and Sylvia was strengthened in the conviction that she had heard and taken to heart the reference to herself which had been made in the afternoon.

She made no reference to the subject, but three times over the next day Sylvia entered a room in time to hear a hurried rustle and scramble, and behold Pixie gazing into the fire with an air of elaborate unconsciousness—the newspaper rolled into a ball beneath her chair. It was always open at the advertisement sheet, moreover, so that the onlooker had not much difficulty in guessing the character of the letters which were inscribed with such deep-breathed earnestness in the afternoon.

They were posted in the pillar-box at the corner of the road, and Pixie marched back to the house and sat herself down with an air of mysterious importance. Her head was held proudly erect, her lips pressed tightly together as if nothing, no nothing, would induce her to put her secret into words, and Sylvia smiled to herself, and from the experiences of a week's acquaintance, gave her exactly five minutes in which to divulge the whole story.

"If you were threatened with a danger—a hidjus danger—what should you think would be the best way to avoid it?" asked Pixie earnestly, at the expiration of two minutes and a half.

Sarah had that moment brought in the lamp and brushed up the fire, and the little room looked wonderfully cheerful and cosy. It was just the time and opportunity for a confidential chat, and Sylvia sat herself down in the arm-chair with a pleasant sense of expectancy. She was allowed to sit up for an hour or two in the day, and that in itself was a cheering circumstance.

"If I were threatened with a danger, how should I try to avoid it? I really don't know, Pixie. What do you advise yourself?" she asked smilingly, and Pixie smote her fists together, and stamped on the floor with dramatic emphasis.

"Ye ought to march straight out and meet it! That's what Therese has been teaching me all these years, for, says she, 'Bridgie, the dear, is so soft-hearted that she'll never believe but that everything will come right if ye sit still and look pleasant.' The last thing but one that she said to me before parting was that I must look after the family and keep them out of trouble; so I've been reading over the papers to see how I can make some money, and it's wonderful the choice you can have! I thought at first about taking a situation, but it's better that I should stay at home to look after Bridgie, and teach her how to use up the scraps as they do in France. Me dear, the most elegant soup made out of nothing at all but the scraps ye would throw to the hens! There's one advertisement which says a lady like meself can earn a handsome income in her own home, without interfering with present duties. It sounds so light and pleasant that it quite struck my fancy; and only two shillings for samples and directions!"

"Oh, Pixie, did you really send it? I'm so sorry you did that without telling me first. I'm afraid it's a hoax, dear! It sounds too good to be true!"

"But it says so plainly in those very words. I'll show it to you if you like. It's printed!" cried Pixie in a tone of shocked reproof which silenced the protests on Sylvia's lips. If her suspicions were correct, time would teach the lesson that even printed advertisements were not always accurately truthful, but she had not the heart to dilate on the perfidiousness of mankind in the presence of such innocent trustfulness. She murmured apologetic phrases, and Pixie beamed once more and continued her story.

"There's another gentleman wants you to go round and sell books. I've written to him, but I'd rather do things at home. Did you ever hear of anyone making a fortune by addressing envelopes? They want someone to do that too, but I write so slowly meself, and it's only a shilling a thousand. A literery lady is wanted to correct proofs. That would be nice, because they might be stories. How do you spell 'literery', Sylvia?"

"L-i-t-e-r-a-r-y!"

"Not 'e-r-y?' You are quite sure?"

"Absolutely sure!"

"I put 'literery'!" said Pixie, with a sigh. Perhaps it will prejudice him against me! Spelling was never my strong point, but that was worse than ignorance—with the paper lying beside me for reference! The best of all is a shop that wants you to colour photographs. I love painting pictures, and the scrap-books I've done for hospitals would fill a museum. Of course, these would have to be done carefully, but I've seen Therese sketching at Versailles, and artists painting in the Louvre, and I'm quick at imitating. They wanted three shillings to sell you the paints and brushes, and it will be cheap if it brings in pounds a week. "Twas a good thing Esmeralda gave me a sovereign before she left, and I could get the stamps without anyone being the wiser. I thought, you see, it would be so nice to keep it a secret until I could go to Bridgie with my earnings in my hand. You will promise truly and faithfully not to tell?"

"If you will promise not to send any more money without asking my advice. I think you ought to do that, Pixie!"

"I shan't need to, me dear. I'll earn enough as it is. Will I get the replies to-morrow, do you think? The letters ought to be delivered to- night!"

Sylvia felt doubtful whether answers would ever be received, but as events proved, she was wrong, and Pixie was right, for her inquiries were answered by return of post, and on the first opportunity handed over for inspection. The philanthropist who provided remunerative work for gentlewomen at their own homes without interfering with present duties, forwarded samples as promised, the which Pixie spread out on the table with an air of depression. They consisted of a two-inch length of a simple stamping-off pattern, a fragment of black net, and a few dozen common jet beads, wrapped in a paper.

"You iron off the pattern on the net, and then you sew round it with the beads, and then ye cut off the scallops, and then it's jetted lace!" she explained anxiously. "And when it's jetted lace, ye go out and sell it to the shops." She sighed deeply, and turned over the patterns with her fingers. "How much a yard is jetted lace, Sylvia?"

"I don't know exactly, but I should think a narrow width like this could not be over a couple of shillings at the most."

"And it would take me months to do, and be puckered at that! It's such wobbly stuff to sew. Even if I did a lot, I'm afraid the shops would never buy it."

"I'm afraid not, Pixie. I wouldn't waste your time trying, dear!"

Pixie sighed again and carefully replaced the fragments in their envelopes.

"It was very kind of them to send them so soon, and if I was clever with my fingers, it would be a fine idea, but I know quite well it would be puckered. Will I send back the patterns, do you think? They might be useful for someone else."

"I think whoever sent them can very well afford to send another selection to the next inquirer. I should not dream of wasting a stamp on them," replied Sylvia drily, and as she spoke she pulled Pixie nearer to her, and kissed her with a fervour which was somewhat startling to the recipient.

"Are ye sorry for me?" she queried. "Ye needn't be, because I shall have so much to do with the photographs that I am not disappointed a bit. They have sent me one to paint, and if I do it to their satisfaction they can keep me in constant work. They don't say anything about paying, but I expect that will be settled next week. Here's the paints, and here's the lady!"

Sylvia looked, and beheld half a dozen cheap paints such as are found in a child's sixpenny box, a thick and a thin brush, equally common, and a photograph of a buxom lady with a mop of tousled hair, swinging in a hammock-chair under some trees, while a flight of marble steps led up to a palatial mansion in the background. She read the letter, and found that Pixie had accurately described its contents. It appeared that the firm was in pressing need of outside help, and had practically unlimited work to bestow upon ladies "with artistic tendencies."

Judging from the note-paper, the handwriting, and the style of the photograph itself, the critics could not be very severe, and for a moment Sylvia found herself wondering if by chance Pixie had indeed found some work within her scope. She herself knew little about painting, but after a long discussion of the different features of the photograph, she succeeded in dissuading the youthful artist from a somewhat violent scheme of colour, and in extracting a promise that the completed picture should be brought across the road for her inspection before it was despatched, for by this time Miss Munns was once more settled at home, and the last evening of the happy visit had arrived.

Sylvia tried not to allow herself to think how quiet and dull the days would seem with only Aunt Margaret as a companion; how hard it would be to sit contentedly playing cribbage in the evenings, while across the road, within a stone's-throw from the window, was this dear, bright, homey room, full of young creatures like herself. She told herself that she had had a happy holiday, and ought to go home refreshed and cheered. She made noble resolutions to be more patient and considerate, and pretended that she was really quite relieved to be leaving Jack O'Shaughnessy, for it was far more difficult to withstand the humbugging eyes now that she knew what a dear kind fellow he was at heart, and he on his part seemed quite embarrassingly sorry to say good-bye!

"You have not been half so nice to me lately as you were the first few days," he said plaintively in the privacy afforded by the strains of a comb orchestra vigorously conducted at the end of the room. "I must have offended you without meaning it; clumsy fellow that I am!"

"Oh dear no, not at all. It is only that I am getting better, and my natural bad temper is asserting itself. Most people are mild when they are ill," she replied lightly, but Jack was not so easily silenced.

"That's not the reason. Saving your presence, you are better tempered, not worse, but there's a difference all the same. I suppose you don't like me so well now that you know me better?"

"On the contrary, I like you infinitely more." Sylvia hesitated a moment, then added with sudden resolution, "I thought you were a very agreeable flirt; you amused me, and I enjoyed being flattered; but now I think you are a real good friend, and I treat you in a different way. One gets tired of compliments, but friendship grows better and better all the time."

Jack coloured, and was silent. Sylvia wondered if he were offended by the plainness of her words, but when he turned to her again, there was the frank, manly expression in his eyes which she liked most to see.

"May I come and call upon you sometimes in the evening? I shall have no chance of seeing you in the daytime."

"I should like it very much, but it is not my house, remember, and Aunt Margaret is not fond of young men."

"But I am terribly partial to old ladies, and I never met the one yet that wasn't wrapped up in me before we parted. I've got a way with old ladies!" said Jack complacently. "There was an old dear in Ireland who managed everyone for miles around, but she was as soft as putty in my hands. The poor girl, her daughter, was not allowed to join in any of the fun that was on hand, and when there was anything special coming on, she'd write pitiful letters and ask me to lunch. I always went—she had very good eyes of her own!—and she'd meet me in the drive, and put me up to what she wanted. By the time the old lady had told me all about her hens, and her servants, and her latest quarrel with her neighbours, and I'd flattered her by saying her rheumatism was the pick of any in the county, she'd be ready to eat out of my hand. And I'd fix up to call for Mollie, and see her safely home after the show was over."

"Mollie? A pretty name! Is it common in Ireland?"

"It is so. We knew a stack of them at Knock, but Mollie Burrell was the best of the bundle."

Sylvia smiled, but her lips felt stiff, and the effort was not a success. A little weight of depression settled over her spirits. She felt anything but sympathetic for the deprivations of Miss Mollie Burrell.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

BARGAIN-HUNTING.

Two days after Sylvia's return home, Pixie took the tinted photograph across the road for inspection. She had toiled at it with conscientious effort, but, alas! the result was pathetically bad, the paint being laid on in uncertain daubs, while carmine cheeks and scarlet lips laid the buxom lady under suspicion of sickening for fever or some other deadly complaint. Pixie herself was vaguely disquieted by the general effect, but, as she earnestly explained, you "got used to it after a bit, and it didn't look so bad. And even if it was only half price this time, it would be encouraging to the family!"

Sylvia refrained from criticism, but helped to pack the work of art between two sheets of cardboard in readiness for the post, and after that was done, took her visitor downstairs to be introduced to Miss Munns.

The old lady was sitting darning stockings, with a newspaper spread over one half of the table and a little bowl standing ready to receive the snippings of worsted. On the baize cloth at the other end stood an indiarubber plant and four little artificial ferns. A gas fire flickered in the grate, a wire blind shut out the view, the chairs stood ranged in mathematical order against the walls, the very newspaper was folded into an accurate square and put away in the rack, and Pixie looked round with awed eyes the while she was introduced.

"This is Bridgie's youngest sister, Aunt Margaret—Pixie O'Shaughnessy."

"I hope you are quite well, my dear," said Miss Munns.

"Good morning, madame!" said Pixie in her most Parisian manner, not attempting to shake hands, but bowing with an air of gracious effusion from half-way across the room.

Aunt Margaret let the stocking drop in her lap and stared over her spectacles, shaking her head solemnly as Sylvia related how the new- comer had just returned from Paris, where she had been living under the charge of an old governess.

"That accounts for it!" she said darkly, when the explanations were finished. "I never can understand why people want to go abroad when there are so many good schools at their door. When I was a girl I went to Miss Banks at Peckham, and it was most select. Every girl over fifteen wore a bonnet; mine was white Dunstable, with check ribbons, blue and white. I wore it with a dress with silk pipings, and it was very much admired. My cousin Gertrude went to Paris, because her father had business on the Continent, and she never got over it for years. They gave her dreadful food, and when she could not eat it, it was put aside and brought up meal after meal. She told me as a solemn fact that they used to put fruit in the soup, and there was something dreadful made of cabbages. Did they give you cabbages, my dear?"

"Mais oui, madame!" returned Pixie, involuntarily returning to the language of the place of which they were speaking. "But they were delicious, those cabbage! Mademoiselle has without doubt had an unhappy experience. The cabbage of France is a most excellent cabbage. He resembles himself absolutely to an English cabbage, but he is more well prepared."

"Speak English, my dear, for pity's sake! I never could understand that gibberish. My poor father paid extra for me to learn under a native, but it seemed as if I always turned against it. Well, I don't understand about the cabbages; Gertrude certainly said they were quite sour, and mixed with all manner of horrible things!"

"Perhaps you mean sauerkraut, Aunt Margaret. She would hardly have that in Paris. Are you quite sure it was not Germany where she was at school?"

"Berlin, was it? Berlin!" said Miss Munns, meditating with her finger to her lip. "Yes, I think it was, because I remember I always associated it with the wool. All these foreign schools are alike. Nothing comes of them but bowing and scraping. Give me a good sound English education!"

Miss Munns threaded her needle through the heel of the black stocking with an expression which seemed to imply that the last word was spoken on that subject, and Pixie put on her most engaging manner as she replied, as if anxious to prove that she was not altogether ruined by her Continental experiences—

"Madame is without doubt so clever that she does not need to be taught. Sylvia has told us that you could teach Bridgie better than anyone else. She is the best meaner in the world, is Bridgie, but it comes natural to her to forget. Sylvia said it was wonderful the way you managed the house. You could find the blue-bag in the dark!"

"Find—the blue-bag—in the—dark! Why should I find the blue-bag in the dark? What do I want with it in the dark? The blue-bag! Why should I look for the blue-bag?" cried Miss Munns, all anxiety to fathom the meaning of this perplexing statement.

The most elaborate explanations on Sylvia's part failed to solve the mystery, and she kept on reiterating, "Why blue-bag?" in tones of baffled curiosity, while Sylvia lay back in her chair and sighed, and raised her eyebrows and stared hopelessly at the corner of the ceiling. It was a trying moment, but Pixie entered gallantly into the breach, and succeeded in diverting attention into another channel.

"It was just to shame us beside you, because we couldn't find it in the light. The sugar-basin would have done just as well. My family had gone on spending money when there was none to spend, until now at last it's all gone, and Jack says we must begin to be careful. Bridgie thought maybe if you would give her a hint it would be useful, as she has no one to teach her."

"I never earned a sovereign in my life, but I should be afraid to say how many I have saved!" said Miss Munns complacently. "There is nothing wasted in my house, my dear, and I should be only too thankful to tell your sister the way your servants behave when her back is turned. The light is flaring in their bedroom until after eleven at night, and I've seen them myself running after the grocer's lad to give him extra orders. Does your sister allowance them in butter and sugar? Depend upon it, if she doesn't, they eat twice as much as they should.

"If she brings her books over to me, I will tell her exactly what quantities she ought to order. It's hard on a young man like your brother to have to provide for such a long family. I suppose you will be doing something for yourself in a couple of years when you are old enough to go about alone. You will be able to turn your education to account, and give lessons in the French language. You look more French than English, as it is, and have just their way of twisting yourself about as you talk."

"Aunt Margaret!" cried Sylvia reproachfully, but Pixie's eyes brightened as at a sudden suggestion, and she cried eagerly—

"Do I? Do I really? Oh, I'm so glad! If you saw me in the street, would you think I was a Parisian? Oh, thank you so much for saying so!"

"Humph! You're easily pleased. I should not take it as a compliment if anyone said that to me. I'm an Englishwoman, and a good subject of Queen Victoria, and I'm thankful to say I look it. No one would mistake me for a French madam!"

"No, they wouldn't. You are a different shape," said Pixie truthfully, whereupon Miss Munns sent a sharp inquiry over the edge of her spectacles, but the glance which met hers was so guileless that no suspicions could live in its presence. So she said, "Humph!" once more, and that ended the discussion.

Pixie renewed her study of the newspapers with fresh interest after this conversation, and made marks against quite a number of advertisements, which, however, she took no active steps to answer, pending the verdict from the photographic company. It came at last, and proved to be a judicious mingling of praise and blame.

The painting of the photograph, said the critic, displayed great taste and artistic promise, though unfortunately the execution did not quite come up to the high standard of excellence required by the firm. No doubt this deficiency was largely caused by a lack of proper materials, and he would strongly recommend further expenditure of five shillings, for a complete artist's outfit, given which, and a little more practice, he had no doubt whatever of being able to send a constant supply of work, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Sylvia was shown this missive in due course, and tossed it from her with impatient hand.

"You must not send it, Pixie! You must not dream of sending it. Don't you see, dear, they only want to get money from you instead of giving it themselves? You have already sent three shillings, and now they want five more, and probably next time there would be another excuse for getting some more. You can't afford to throw away money like that, especially without Bridgie's knowledge or consent. Give it up, dear, and have no more to do with them."

"I will!" said Pixie sadly; "but you mustn't blame them, poor creatures, for it's my own fault. It's the truth that I was short of paints, for the ones they sent were so dry I could hardly get them to mark, and the colours wouldn't seem to come right. It's very kind of them to promise me work, but I must give it up, for I can't do better without taking lessons, and where would be the profit in that? I took hours, and hours, and hours painting that lady, and ye saw yourself she looked more like a beetroot than a human creature. Don't you say a word to Bridgie, and I'll promise you faithfully I won't send another penny. I've a new idea in my head, which maybe will turn out best of all."

She refused to say anything more explicit on the subject, but hinted that definite information might be forthcoming on the following evening, and Sylvia wondered what new web for the unwary had caught this most innocent little fly in its meshes. She concluded that Pixie must be expecting another prospectus, but next day the two sisters came across the road for a few minutes' chat en route for a shopping expedition, and all the time that the elder was speaking, the younger stood in the background, rolling her eyes and mouthing unintelligible messages, evidently intended to convey the information that some great issue was at stake.

"Don't you envy me, me dear? I am going to buy new clothes!" announced Bridgie, beaming. "Esmeralda gave me a five-pound note before she left, and, 'For pity's sake,' she said, 'buy yourself a decent gown! You're a disgrace to be walking about the streets, and with Pixie so smart as she is, too. Now's your chance to get something cheap at the sales!' and with that you should have heard her groan to think she'd lost all the pleasure of hunting for bargains through marrying a rich man! I want a dress, and a jacket, and a hat, and a blouse or two for the house, and gloves, and—"

"Don't you wish you may get them!" cried Sylvia mockingly. She watched the two girls walk down the road, and noted that Pixie was arrayed in her very best clothes to do honour to the mysterious errand, whatever it might be. Her felt hat was tilted at an extraordinary angle; the smart little jacket looked quite different from the ordinary bulky winter garments which one was accustomed to see; her boots were of patent leather, and her muff was decorated with a huge rosette, and ends of ribbon.

Miss Munns might have truthfully declared that she looked French this morning, and there was a suggestion of a strut in her walk which seemed to speak of personal satisfaction in her appearance. Bridgie did indeed look shabby beside her, but then no clothes, however poor, could ever make the sweet thing look anything but a lady, and she too held up her head in triumphant fashion, for was she not going shopping with five bright golden sovereigns in her purse?

When Oxford Street was reached, the novices eagerly examined the windows of a famous drapery establishment, in which the most thrilling bargains were displayed to decoy the passers-by, and on the happy Irish principle of placing the pleasantest duty first on the list, elbowed their way upstairs to the millinery department. The room was blocked with a throng of excited females all engaged in lifting hats from their pegs and trying them on before the various mirrors. Sometimes two of the number would set their affections on the same treasure, and then the one who had been unsuccessful in obtaining possession would stand gloomily by ready to pounce upon it the moment her adversary laid it down. Two or three assistants stood at bay trying to answer a dozen questioners at once, and experienced bargain-hunters were turning over the contents of the drawers with one hand, and grasping four or five bonnets in the other.

For a few moments the new-comers were too much bewildered to know what to do first, but the spirit of plunder soon laid hold of them in their turn, and they began to pounce upon the most fascinating of the spoils and to try them on in breathless excitement.

Bridgie looked charming in all, her small head and cloud-like hair making her an easy person to suit, but, alas! the prices still seemed ruinous to her innocent mind, and she sadly turned her attention to the more simple of the models. These were by no means so becoming as their predecessors, and Pixie's criticisms were as usual strictly truthful as she regarded them.

"Ye look a fright. Ye look old enough to be your own mother. It takes all the colour out of your face. You look quite yellow!"

Bridgie tore the hat from her head, and seized upon a modest brown toque which lay close at hand.

"Is that better, then? Is that dowdy enough to suit you?"

"It's hidjus!" cried Pixie with emphasis. "It's uglier than the other. I wouldn't have it given to me as a present. You look an object from the side!"

"But it's useful—it is useful!" sighed Bridgie dejectedly. Buying hats was not so exciting as she had imagined if she were obliged to abjure the pretty ones, and buy the useful in which she appeared to such painful disadvantage. "And I expect it is cheap, Pixie. Very cheap! I have, to think of that, remember!"

She tilted the hand-glass to the side to study the effect which had been condemned, and as she did so, a sepulchral voice said grimly in her ear, "When you have quite finished with my hat!" and she turned to behold a severe-looking, elderly lady staring fixedly at her headgear, and holding out her hand to claim it as her own. Poor Bridgie! her cheeks flamed for the next hour. She was so hot, and breathless, and agitated that she would have rushed straightway from the department, but Pixie stood her ground and remained serenely unperturbed.

"'Twas true!" she cried. "'Twas only the truth she heard. 'Twas hidjus, and no words of yours would make it pretty. And as for cheap, she ought to take that for a compliment, seeing the pains she's taking to get another like it! Somebody must be trying on your own hat, I'm thinking. It was lying over the rail of that chair where the fat lady is resting. You'd better be asking her what she's done with it."

Bridgie walked forward and put an anxious Inquiry, whereupon the fat lady leapt up in alarm, and there against the back of the chair lay a poor flattened object, with battered crown and crestfallen bows—all that was left of Bridgie's very best hat! She was horrified at the sight, but the fat lady was more horrified still, and so lavish in her apologies that it was impossible to cherish anger against her. She insisted upon herself smoothing out the ribbons and moulding the crown into something like the original shape, and in doing so bestowed the information that there was another millinery department downstairs, where there might possibly be less crowd and more chance of attention.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"A FRENCH LADY."

The sisters agreed to adjourn forthwith, but just at the moment of departing a hat was discovered which was in every way what was required, so they proceeded straight to the remnant counter where a mountain of material was being tossed about hither and thither by a crowd of purchasers three rows deep.

"First catch your hare, then cook it," so runs the old proverb, and in this case the adventure was by no means concluded when the selection was made. It was necessary to pay for what you had bought, and that necessitated a wait of a long half-hour before anyone could be induced to receive the money. The glove department was, if possible, still more crowded, and it was a relief to see through a doorway a vista of a great hall filled with cases of beautiful ready-made dresses, where, despite the presence of a goodly number of customers, there was still enough room to move about, without pushing a way with your elbows.

"Let us come in here and breathe again!" cried Bridgie. "I don't think I was ever so tired during my life, but I'm enjoying myself terribly. It's so exciting, isn't it, Pixie?—and those blouse lengths are quite elegant. They will take a lot of making, though. Wouldn't it be nice if I could buy a dress all ready, and be spared the work?"

"It would!" agreed Pixie. "Tell one of the ladies what you're wanting, and maybe she'll have the very thing. Here is one coming this way. Speak to her."

Bridgie cleared her throat nervously as she made her request, for the show-woman was a most impressive figure, tall, incredibly slight, with elaborately arranged hair, satin skirts sweeping the ground, and a manner that was quite painfully superior. She swept a scrutinising glance over the sisters as she listened to the request for a simple house dress, volunteered the information that, "Our cheapest costumes are in this stand!" in a blighting tone, and began pulling out the skirts and exhibiting them in professional manner.

"That is a very nice little dress, madam, very neatly made—quite in the latest style! Too light? We are selling a great many light shades this season.—Do you care for this colour? This is a very well-cut gown. Too dark? I am afraid I have not many medium shades.—Here is a pretty gown, very much reduced. Quite a simple little gown, but it looks very well on. This embroidery is all hand-done. The bodice is prettily made."

Bridgie privately thought the simple little gown a most elaborate creation, but her hopes went up as she heard that "very cheap," and she asked the price with trembling hope, whereupon the show-woman referred to the little ticket sewn on the belt, and said airily,—"Eight and a half guineas, madam. Reduced from twelve. It really is quite a bargain."

"Ye might as well say a thousand pounds!" said Bridgie hopelessly, relapsing into a deep, musical brogue in the emotion of the moment, and, wonder of wonders, the bored superiority of the great lady's manner gave place to a smile of sympathetic amusement.

She was accustomed to customers who asked the prices of a dozen dresses in succession, and then floated away declaring that they would "think it over," never, as she knew well, to return again; but not one in a thousand was honest enough to make a confession of poverty! She lived in an atmosphere of vanity and affectation, and put on her haughty manners every morning with her black satin dress; but at night she was only a poor, tired, working woman, going home to a dingy lodging, and dividing her earnings with an invalid mother and a family of struggling brothers and sisters. Her heart went out to this other girl who was so evidently a lady despite her poverty, and when Bridgie mentioned a ludicrously small sum as the limit to which she was prepared to go, she showed neither surprise nor the thinly-veiled contempt which is usual under the circumstances, but volunteered some really useful information in its place.

"You will not be able to buy any ready-made costume for that price, madam, but there will be a special sale of dress materials on Tuesday next. If you could be here quite early in the morning, and go straight to the counter under the clock, you would find some wonderful bargains. I should advise you to leave it until then, but perhaps there is some other department to which I could direct you."

"Thank you, I'm dreadfully tired. Could we go somewhere, and have a cup of tea?"

The way was pointed out, and the sisters mounted the stairs once more, took possession of a little table in a corner, and leant back wearily in their chairs. The room was crowded like the others, but it was comparatively quiet, for the ladies were resting after the fray, stifling surreptitious yawns, and sipping tea with languid enjoyment.

It was a long time before Bridgie could find anyone to attend to her wants, and meantime the temptation of the parcels lying before her was too great to be resisted. "I really must look at those gloves and the lace ties that are wrapped up with them! I never had so many new pairs in my life, but they were so cheap that I hadn't the heart to leave them. 'Twill be a refreshment to gloat over them until the tea comes!" She untied the string and complacently folded back the paper, but, alas! what was then revealed was the reverse of refreshing, for, in some mysterious manner, the gloves and laces had disappeared, and in their place lay a fragment of dull, prosaic flannel, at which the poor bargain-hunter stared with dilated eyes.

"F-flannel!" she gasped. "Flannel! It was gloves when it was made up. What's the matter with it—is it witchcraft?"

"I'd call it stupidity, if you asked my opinion," said Pixie calmly. "You've stolen a poor creature's parcel, and perhaps she wanted to make a poultice with it. It will be awful for her when she goes home, and her husband groaning in agony, and nothing to relieve him but two lace ties! I pity her when she finds it out."

"She has stolen my gloves. I'm not sorry for her at all, and if she is an honest woman she will bring them back at once and hand them in to the office. I shall take the wretched flannel there the moment we go downstairs, but I've a conviction that I'll never see my parcel again. I suppose they got changed at one of those crowded counters. I don't think I care for sales very much, Pixie; they are too expensive. We will go straight home after we have had tea."

"We will so, and make haste about it. I wanted specially to be back by four o'clock."

To Bridgie's surprise, however, ten minutes before the omnibus reached the corner at which they were wont to alight, Pixie beckoned to the conductor to stop, and announced her intention of walking the rest of the way. There was no time to discuss the point, and as she herself was too tired to walk a step farther than she was obliged, she sat still and watched the little figure affectionately until the omnibus rounded a corner and it was hidden from sight.

She would have been astonished if she had seen the sudden energy with which Pixie immediately turned right about face and walked away in the opposite direction, taking a crumpled square of newspaper from her pocket, and reading over a certain advertisement with eager attention.

"'Wanted a French lady.'—I'm not whole French, but I'm half. Haven't I been in their country nearly two years? 'To amuse two children.'—I'd amuse a dozen, and never know I was doing it! 'And perfect them in the language for a couple of hours every morning.' Look at that, now, it's better than the jetted lace! Two hours wouldn't interfere with me one bit, for I've all the day to do nothing. 'Apply personally between four and six at Seven, Fitzjames Crescent.' Only ten minutes' walk from me own door, as if it had been made on purpose to suit me! And quite a good-looking house it is, with real silk curtains in the windows."

She tripped undauntedly up the steps and pressed the electric bell, and, all unseen to her eyes, the little god of fate peered at her from behind the fat white pillars of the portico, and clapped his little hands in triumph.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

PIXIE SCORES A SUCCESS.

A butler came to the door, a solemn-looking butler, with a white tie and immaculate black clothes, but he seemed rather stupid for his age, for he asked twice over before he could grasp the fact that Pixie had called in answer to the advertisement, and then stared fixedly at her all the time he was escorting her to the room where the other lady applicants were waiting their turns.

Pixie gasped as she looked round and saw ladies, ladies everywhere, on the row of leather chairs ranged along by the wall, on the sofa, on the two easy-lounges by the fireside,—old ladies, young ladies, middle-aged ladies, elderly ladies, shabby and dressy, fat and thin, but all distinctly past their first youth, and all most obviously French. They gaped at the new-comer, even as the butler had done, and she bowed graciously from side to side, and said, "Bon jour, mesdames!" in her most Parisian manner, then squeezed herself into a little corner by the window and listened entranced to the never-ending stream of conversation.

A room full of Englishwomen would under the circumstances have preserved a depressed and solemn silence, but these good ladies chattered like magpies, with such shruggings of shoulders, such waving of hands, such shrillness of emphasis, that Pixie felt as if she were once more domiciled in the Avenue Gustave.

The lady in the plaid dress, who occupied the next chair, asked her with frank curiosity to recount then how she found herself in such a position, and, being assured that she was indeed applying for the situation, prophesied that it would never march! She turned and whispered loudly to her companion, "Behold her, the poor pigeon! One sees well that she has the white heart!" But the companion was less amiable, and enraged herself because there were already applicants enough, and with each new-comer her own chance of success became less assured.

At intervals of five or ten minutes the butler returned and marshalled the next in order to the presence of the lady of the house, but, short as were the interviews, it was a weary wait before it came to Pixie's turn, and she wondered fearfully whether Bridgie had taken fright at her absence, and was even now searching the streets in a panic of alarm. The hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes to six before the butler gave the longed-for signal, and she smiled at him in her most friendly manner as she crossed the room towards him. Without any exchange of words she divined that he took more interest in herself than in any of the other applicants, and also that for some mysterious reason he was sorry for her, and imagined that she was making a mistake, and the smile was meant at once as thanks and reassurement.

They walked together down the slippery floor, such a slippery, shiny floor, that one felt as if skates would be almost more in keeping than boots, and finally arrived at a cosy little room at the back of the house, where a tired-looking gentleman and a bored-looking lady stood ready to receive her. They looked at each other, they looked at the butler, they looked again at the little pig-tailed figure, with short skirts and beaming, childlike face, and their faces became blank with astonishment.

"Bon jour, mademoiselle!" began the lady uncertainly.

"Good day to ye!" said Pixie in response, and at that the bewilderment became more marked than ever. The lady sat down and drew a long, weary sigh. She was handsome and young, but very, very thin, and looked as if she had hardly enough energy to go through any more interviews.

"Then—then you are not French after all?"

"I forgot!" sighed Pixie sadly. She sat down and hitched her chair nearer the fire in sociable fashion. "It's just like me to make up me mind, and then forget at the right moment! I intended to let you hear me speak French, before I broke it to you that I'm Irish and all my people before me."

"I almost think I should have discovered it for myself!" said the lady, looking as if she were not quite sure whether to be amused or irritated. "But if that is so, what is your business here? I advertised for a French lady."

"You did. I read the advertisement, but if I'm not French I'm just as good, for I've just last month returned from Paris, and the lady where I was staying was most particular about my accent. Over in Ireland I was so quick in picking up the brogue that I had to be sent to England to get rid of it, and I was just as handy with another language. If I'd remembered to answer you in French, you would never have known the difference between me and those old ladies who came in first."

"Old ladies, indeed! I'll never advertise again if this is what it means!" sighed the lady sotto voce. She looked across the room, met a gleam of amusement in her husband's eyes, and said in a tolerant voice, "Well, then, let me hear you now! I am a pretty good French scholar myself, so you won't find me easy to deceive!"

"Perfectly, madam, perfectly!" cried Pixie, gesticulating assent. She found none of the difficulty in settling what to talk about which handicaps most people under similar circumstances, but poured forth a stream of commonplaces in such fluent, rapid French as showed that she had good reason for boasting of proficiency. When she finished, the lady looked at her husband with a triumphant air, and cried—

"There! It shows how important it is for children to learn a language while they are still young. It can never be mastered so well if it is left until they are grown-up."

Then turning to Pixie—

"Yes, indeed, you speak French charmingly. I congratulate you, and hope you may find it very useful. You are so young that you cannot have finished your own education. Perhaps you are going to school in England?"

"'Deed I am not. I want to teach instead. My brother is a very grand gentleman, but he's in difficulties. He has a fine estate in Ireland, but it is let, and he's over in London trying to make enough money to get back again, and that's none too easy, as you may know yourself, and if I can earn some money it will keep me from being a burden on me friends. I've answered quite a lot of advertisements, but there was nothing really to suit me until I saw your own yesterday morning."

"I see! May I ask if your mother knows what you are doing—if you are here with her consent?"

Pixie sighed at that, and shook her head in melancholy fashion.

"I've no mother. She died when I was young, and the Major's horse threw him two years ago, and I've been an orphan ever since. There's only Bridgie now!"

"Poor child!" The lady looked at the quaint figure with a kindly glance, thinking of the two little girls upstairs, and picturing them starting out to fight the world when they should still have been safe within the shelter of the schoolroom. "I'm sorry to hear that. Bridgie, I suppose, is your sister? Does she know what you are doing? Would she be willing for you to apply for a situation in this manner?"

"Maybe not at first, but I'd beguile her. I'm the youngest, and I always get my own way. I told Sylvia Trevor, who was staying with us, and she was very kind, giving me good advice not to do it, but it is to be a surprise for Bridgie to help her to pay the bills. If ye want money, what else can you do than try to earn it?"

"But not at your age, dear! You are too young yet awhile!" Mrs Wallace crossed the room and seating herself in a chair by Pixie's side, laid a hand on her shoulder with quite affectionate pressure. "I appreciate your kindly intention, but I am afraid it will be a good many years before you are ready to take a governess's place. You saw yourself what a difference there was between yourself and the other ladies who came to see me to-day!"

"I'm more amusing! Ye wouldn't believe how amusing I can be when I try! At school there was a prize which was given to the girl who was nicest to the other girls, and they all voted for me, and I've got it now and could bring it to show you if you liked. I'm not exactly clever, and there was no chance for anyone else at the bottom of the class, but you didn't say a word about teaching, except French, and I could talk that all day long!"

"Yes! I should be quite satisfied if my girlies spoke as well as you do. Your accent is charming, and you have just the air, but—but you are so young—so ridiculously young!"

"So are the children. They'd like me best!" maintained Pixie sturdily, and at that Mr Wallace burst into a laugh. His eyes had been twinkling for some time past, and he had been stroking his moustache as if to conceal his amusement, but now he made no more disguise, but laughed and laughed again, as if he were thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Upon my word, Edith, I believe she is right! If you consider the children's feelings, there is no doubt how they would decide. If you want them kept happy and bright, now's your chance! After our earlier experiences this is really quite refreshing, and I am beginning to think your advertisement has been of some use after all. How would it be if you interviewed Miss Bridgie—I didn't catch the second name—and if she is agreeable, you might perhaps make some temporary arrangement!"

"O'Shaughnessy. It's Irish! I'm sure Bridgie would say yes, for it would be occupation for me in the mornings, and so near that I could come by myself. We live in Rutland Road, but the house is so small ye would hardly notice it if you passed by. Jack says if he could get London rents in Ireland, he'd never do another honest day's work while he lived. You could put the whole place down in the hall at Knock Castle, and never know it was there, and Bridgie says she knows every blade of grass in the garden. We had the loveliest grounds at Knock, all the flowers coming up anyway, and volunteers drilling in the park, and the glass-houses full of ferrets and white mice, and tomatoes, and everything you can think of. If I could make some money we should be able to go back sooner than we thought, and Bridgie would be so pleased. When shall I say you are coming to see her?"

"I have not promised to come at all. You must not leap at conclusions. It is a most ridiculous scheme, but really—"

Mrs Wallace laughed in her turn, and going up to where her husband stood, exchanged a few whispered confidences, some scattered words of which reached the listener's ear. "Typically Irish! Preposterous! No harm trying. What about Viva? So difficult to manage."

The discussion was still progressing when from above sounded a sudden piercing cry, mounting ever higher and higher, the note sustained in evident but determined effort. Footsteps raced across the floor, followed by a bang as of some heavy wooden structure, a murmured protest, and two distinct sets of shrieks, each warring against the other.

Mr Wallace pressed his hands to his head, Mrs Wallace sighed, "Oh dear, dear, dear!" in tones of hopeless distress, but Pixie cried eagerly—

"Will I run upstairs and try what I can do? Will I make them stop, and laugh instead?"

"You'd deserve the Victoria Cross!" the father declared, while the mother hurried to the door, and led the way with rapid footsteps.

"They have been brought up by an Indian ayah, and this English nurse doesn't understand them a bit. They have trying tempers, there is no use denying it, but they are dear little creatures if rightly managed. Oh dear, dear, dear! these dreadful shrieks! They go through my head."

"Let me go in alone. They will listen better if they don't see you," said Pixie, and walked undauntedly on to the field of battle. In this instance it was represented by a remarkably handsome and well-filled nursery, and the belligerents took the form of two little girls of four and five, who were seated on the floor, dry-eyed, but crimson-faced from the effort to sustain their shrieks. A box of bricks lay scattered by the window, and an anaemic nurse leant against the wall in an attitude of despair.

Pixie walked forward, seated herself on the floor immediately in front of the children, and gazed at them with benign curiosity. There was no anger in her face, no warning of punishment to come, her expression was in such striking contrast with that which they were accustomed to behold on such occasions, that from pure amazement they stopped crying to stare at her in their turn. The moment was hers, and she lost no time in using it.

"The fat one," she said, pointing gravely to the younger of the sisters, "the fat one shouts higher, but the thin one,"—the eloquent finger was turned towards the maid with the golden locks,—"the thin one keeps on longer. You have both won! The prize is that I tell you a story about the Spoopjacks, when they went to fight the Bobityshooties in the Christmas holidays!"

Silence. Viva laid her head on one side and considered the project. Inda pouted her lower lip, and burst into the story of her woes.

"An' I was jest finishin' ze house, and ze chimbleys was getting ready, and she comed against me, an' I pinched her leg, and she throwed it down, an' it was all spoiled, an' the dolls was going to live in it, an'—"

"The Spoopjacks live in the lamp-posts. There are seven of them, and they have tin whiskers, and they went to war with the Bobityshooties because they ate all the muffins, and there were none left for tea. So Nicholas Spoopjack bought six rolling-pins and a watering-cart, and melted down his whiskers for guns, and they put on red gaiters and clean pinafores, and marched across the park. The Bobityshooties were resting under the trees, and all the little birds were eating up the muffin crumbs. The Bobityshooties really live in the pantry cupboard, so that was how they found the muffins, but they were spending the day in the country, and Selina Bobityshooty said to her mother—"

"Is that in a book?" queried the elder Miss Wallace suddenly. She was an exceedingly precocious young lady, and quick to note the unusual style of the narrative. Sometimes the stories in books were about good little girls with whom she had no sympathy, and even if the heroine were naughty to begin with, she invariably improved at the end, and never, never knocked down her sister's bricks. The Spoopjacks and Bobityshooties were new acquaintances and promised well, but she wished to be reassured as regards the moral. "Is that written in a book?"

"No, it's out of my head. There are billions and billions of little girls in the world, and not one of them has ever heard what Selina said to her mother. If you will kiss your sister and say you're sorry, I'll tell you as a secret. It's awful exciting!"

"All right, I'm sorry, only you pinched me too—go on about Selina!" cried Viva in a breath. She kissed her sister on the cheek, and fat little Inda smiled complacently, and repeated, "Go on 'bout S'lina!"

Outside in the passage father and mother looked at each other with sparkling eyes.

"My dear, she is worth a fortune to us!" cried Mr Wallace rapturously. "She understands children, and they understand her; the girlies will be as good as gold under her care. I'll tell Spencer to bring round the carriage and send her home in state, and to-morrow afternoon without fail you must strike a bargain with Mistress Bridgie!"



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

VIVA'S STORY.

Pixie drove home in state, so puffed up with her own importance that it was a distinct blow to find the curtains comfortably drawn, and hear the echo of laughter from the drawing-room. In all the books which she had ever read, candles were left burning in the windows to guide the footsteps of wanderers from the fold, to say nothing of bellmen parading the streets, and anxious relatives rushing from one police station to another. Here, however, all was peace and contentment, and, incredible as it appeared, no one seemed to have been the least agitated about her prolonged absence.

Bridgie was perched on a stool in the centre of the fire rug, relating the history of the day's shopping to the three brothers, and she nodded cheerily at the little sister as she entered, and saluted her with unconcerned composure.

"Well, dear, here you are! Tired after your long day?"

Pixie sank down on the corner of the sofa, and yawned with a nonchalant air. If there was one thing which she loved above everything else in the world, it was to make an impression and be the centre of attraction, and it was not likely that she was going to let slip such an opportunity as the present.

"'Deed I'm not tired," she said genially. "Carriage exercise was always more to my fancy than walking about the streets. If we'd been meant to walk, wouldn't we have had four legs the same as the horses, and if we haven't, doesn't it show that they were meant to do it for us? So when he said the butler should get me the carriage, it wasn't likely I was going to refuse, and up I drove to the very door!"

Jack stopped short in the middle of crossing the room, Pat peered round the corner of his chair and twinkled with mischievous enjoyment, Bridgie's eyes opened as wide as saucers.

"Which door? What carriage? What romance are ye telling me? Haven't you been with Sylvia since I left you?"

"'Deed I have not. What made you fancy I had?"

"There was nowhere else to go, and you had not come home. I made certain you were with Sylvia!"

"It's a bad thing to be certain about what you don't know. If any mischief had happened to me, it would be annoying to you to remember how you were laughing with your back to the fire, while I was run over in the street, and having my legs sawed off at the hospital."

Jack frowned at that, and put a quick question.

"Have you been walking about by yourself? I won't have it at this hour of the night. You can find your own way about the neighbourhood in the daytime, but I won't have you going into town by yourself, or even across the road in the dark. London is not Knock, remember, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to get lost. Don't let her roam about without you, Bridgie!"

"'Twas only a step, and barely four o'clock!" Bridgie's forehead was fretted with anxious lines, but Pixie nodded back cheery reassurement.

"Don't you repine about me, for I got on famously, and Mrs Wallace is coming herself to see you in the afternoon. I've engaged myself as a French lady to amuse the children, and you shall have the money to pay the bills. It was an advertisement in the paper, and you had to call between four and six, so I didn't want you to know before everything was settled. I don't know how much it will be, but Mr Wallace said I was worth a fortune, because I made them stop howling. There are only two, but outside the door you would think they were a dozen, and I made them laugh, and they sent me home in a carriage."

"What is she talking about?" Bridgie and Jack exchanged bewildered glances, and stared in incredulous silence at the little figure on the sofa. She had pulled off her hat, and with it the bow of ribbon, and the loosened hair hung down her back; her hands were crossed on her lap, there were dark shadows under her eyes. She looked so small and frail and childlike that Bridgie felt a lump rising in her throat at the thought of help coming from this strange and most unexpected quarter. She rose, and, going over to the sofa, took Pixie's hand between her own.

"Is it the truth that you are telling us?"

"It is, then! The solemn truth! Every word of it."

"What made you think there was any need for you to disturb yourself? What put it in your head to answer an advertisement at all?"

"Because I didn't want to be a burden to ye, my dear, after all the money you've spent on me education!"

"A little midget like you to speak of being a burden! No one would guess you were there if you weren't so upsetting! It's no use fifty Mrs Wallaces coming to see me. Some other French lady will have to amuse her children. This one is wanted at home!"

Pixie smiled composedly, and squeezed the clinging hands.

"I knew you'd say 'No' at the start. So did she. She was first cross, and then she laughed, and said it would be a long, long time before I was ready to teach. But she didn't really want teaching, only someone to be funny in French, and when she heard me telling tales, and the little girls both laughing, she began to think she would love to have me. You remember the stories you used to tell me, Jack, about the Spoopjacks and the Bobityshooties? I made up a new bit, and they simply loved it. It's two hours every morning, and only ten minutes' walk, and Therese says it's no use beginning to be proud till you've paid your bills. You would like me to help you, wouldn't you, Jack?"

"Shades of Mrs Hilliard!" muttered Jack, and shrugged his shoulders recklessly. "She will have a few volumes to write to me if I say 'Yes!' You are bound to help me, Piccaninny, whatever you are about, but I can't bind myself to allow you to go out governessing before you are out of short frocks. It is Saturday to-morrow, so I shall be home in the afternoon, and see this Mrs Wallace for myself. It's a bad scheme on the face of it, but it's just possible it may be more feasible than it sounds."

That was all the length which he would go for the moment, and Pixie was content to drop the subject, secure in her conviction that time and Mrs Wallace would win the victory. She was petted and fussed over to her heart's content for the rest of the evening, and the story of her various efforts to retrieve the family fortunes was heard with breathless attention. She wondered why the listening faces wore such tender, pitiful expressions, why lazy Pat flushed, and Bridgie went over to her desk and spent a whole half-hour sorting out her bills. It never occurred to her that her earnest effort to take her own share of responsibility was a more eloquent stimulus than twenty lectures!

Next afternoon at three o'clock the two sisters and Sylvia Trevor stationed themselves in positions of vantage behind the curtains, and looked out eagerly for the advent of Mrs Wallace. Bridgie could not divest herself of a suspicion that the promise might have been given as the easiest way out of a difficulty, but before the half-hour struck a well-appointed carriage turned the corner of the road, the coachman glanced at the number on the door, and drew up his horses, when a fluffy head peered out of the window, and Pixie cried excitedly—

"That's the thin one! That's Viva! I expect she howled, and they could not keep her away. That's Mrs Wallace! Isn't it an elegant hat?"

Bridgie peeped and grew quite pink with excitement, for, truth to tell, mother and daughter made a charming picture as they came up the little path. Mrs Wallace looked almost like a girl herself in her becoming hat and veil, while the golden-haired child wore a white coat and cap edged with fluffy swan's-down. Sylvia retreated to the dining-room.

Pixie ran to meet the visitors at the door, and the voice that exclaimed, "Bon jour, Mamzelle Paddy!" was in itself an augury of friendship. The next moment they were in the drawing-room, and Mrs Wallace was smilingly explaining the title.

"I am sure you must have been very much surprised to hear of yesterday's interview, Miss O'Shaughnessy! 'mamzelle Paddy,' as my husband has named your small sister, has made quite a conquest of my little girls, and Viva refused to be left behind when she heard where I was going. I hope you were not very anxious about her absence yesterday?"

"Indeed I was not, for I took it for granted she was with some friends near by. Please sit down, and get warm. 'Twas a ridiculous idea of the child's to suppose for one moment that she could fulfil your requirements; but she's the baby of the family, and has never been thwarted, and such a kind little creature that she must try to help if there is any difficulty. It is good of you to take the trouble to come and explain, but indeed we have decided already that it is quite, quite impossible!"

Mrs Wallace gave a start of consternation, and the smile faded from her lips. She looked first at Bridgie, then across the room to where Viva stood on tiptoe dragging at Pixie's sleeve, and reiterating, "Mamzelle! Mamzelle Paddy, will you come again to my nursery? Will you tell me more stories about those peoples in the lamp-posts?"

"Oh, don't say it is impossible!" she said softly. "I want her to help me too, and I am so troubled about my children. Could she—could they both go into another room for a few minutes, while we talk it over together?"

"Certainly they could!" Bridgie raised her voice a tone higher. "Pixie dear, go to Sylvia in the dining-room and take the little girl with you. Show her some of your treasures!"

"I like cake!" remarked Viva pointedly. She skipped to the door, and stared round the hall with curious eyes. "You do live in a poky little house, don't you? My mamma's house is much bigger than your house. Where does the dining-room live? Is there a cupboard in it that you keep cake in? Is Sylvia your 'nother sister? Who is the man?"

The man was none other than handsome Jack himself, who was enjoying the rare luxury of a tete-a-tete with Sylvia Trevor, and was not too well pleased by this speedy interruption. He frowned when he heard the opening of the door, but when he turned round and saw the vision of pink and white and gold, he smiled in spite of himself, as most people did smile at the sight of Viva Wallace, and held out his hand invitingly.

"Hallo, whom have we here?"

"Quite well, thank you. How are you?" replied Viva fluently. She paid no attention to Sylvia at the other side of the fireplace, but leant confidingly against Jack's chair, staring at him with rapt attention. His eyes looked as if they liked you very, very much; his moustache had sharp little ends which stood out stiff and straight, there was a lump in his throat which moved up and down as he spoke—altogether he was a most fascinating person, and quite deserving of attention. "Are you the papa?" she asked enviously. "My papa has got a brown face with lines in it. He is very old. My muzzer is old too. She is talking to the lady in the 'nother room, and she said I was to be amused. You are to amuse me!"

"No, no, quite a mistake. You must amuse me!" said Jack solemnly. "I have been out all day, and am tired and sleepy, so you must do something to cheer me up. What can you suggest, now, that would be really lively and entertaining?"

Viva reflected deeply.

"I'm learning the 'Pied Piper of Hamelin'!"

"You don't say so!"

"Yes, I am. I'll say it to you now, from the beginning right to the very miggle!"

"Thanks awfully. I should be delighted—another time. Not to-day, I think, if you don't mind. I have rather a sore throat."

Viva opened her eyes and stared at the Adam's apple which showed above the white necktie. She was trying to puzzle out the connection between Mr O'Shaughnessy's throat and the Pied Piper, but the difficulty was too great. She heaved a sigh, and hazarded another suggestion.

"You tell me a story!"

"That would never do. I should be entertaining you, and it ought to be the other way about."

"I'll tell you a story!"

"That's better. Go ahead, then. What is it to be about? Fairies?"

"No, it's not going to be about fairies,—fairies is silly. Giants are more sensibler than fairies, because there was a giant once. There was Golosher!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Golosher!"

"Don't know the gentleman."

"Oh, you naughty! And David killed him in the Bible. I'll tell you a story about giants."

"I don't think I am interested in giants."

"Princesses, then, beautiful princesses, and cruel people trying to be unkind to them, and princes running away and marrying them, and living happily ever afterwards."

"That's the style for my money! Fire away, and let us have plenty of adventure. I'll lean back in this chair and listen to you."

Viva moistened her lips, swallowed rapidly once or twice, and began her story in a shrill, high-pitched voice.

"Once upon a long, long time ago, there was a princess, and she was the most beautiful princess that was ever born. Everyone said so, and her face was as white as snow, and her hair as yellow as—"

"Excuse me—brown!"

"No, it wasn't brown. Bright, curly, golden, down to her—"

"Then she couldn't have been the most beautiful princess in the world, because I've seen the lady and her hair is brown."

Jack stroked his moustache with a look of lamb-like innocence, and Sylvia could have shaken herself with annoyance because she could not help blushing and looking stupid and self-conscious. Pixie's melodious gurgle sounded from the background, and Viva cried severely—

"You couldn't have seen her, because she lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago, when you were a teeny baby. Golden hair down to her feet, and her teef were like pearls, and all the godfathers and godmuzzers came to the christening and gave her nice presinks, only one wicked old mugian who—"

"Pardon me! One wicked old—?"

"Mugian! He's a man what does things. They always have them in stories—that the mamma had forgotten to ask, so he was angry and said she should tumble downstairs when she was grown-up and be lame ever after till a beautiful prince made her better. Oh, but I shouldn't have told you that jest now. You must pitend that you forget I have told you. So then the beautiful princess—her true name was Mabel, but only I call her Norah because her hair was gold—"

Now it was Jack's turn to gasp and search in vain for the connection between Norah and golden hair! It proved as impossible to discover as that between a sore throat and the Piper of Hamelin, but there was another allusion in the story which was too fortunate to be allowed to pass unnoticed.

"The princess was lame, was she? and no one could make her better but the prince? That's very interesting. Could you tell me, now, how he managed the cure? It might be useful to me someday."

"Was your princess a lame princess?"

"I think you had better go on with your story, Viva!" Jack said hurriedly. "Your mother may call you away before it is finished, and I should be disappointed. When did the prince arrive on the scene?"

"It doesn't get to that yet. So the princess lived in a house where there were no stairs. Only one day when she was walking through the wood, there was a little house and she went in, and she said, 'Oh, what funny things!' and she went up them, and she tumbled down, and her foot was underneaf, so she was lame. An' she lay on the sofa, and the queen- mamma cried, and the godfathers and the godmuzzers came flying up, only they could do nothing, and the king said anyone should have the land who made her better, an' thousands an' thousands tried, an' at last the prince came riding along on a white horse, an' he looked froo the window—"

"Jack dear, will you please come to the drawing-room? We want to consult you!" Bridgie's head peered round the corner of the door, her cheeks quite pink, her eyes shining with excitement. She gripped her brother's arm as he came to meet her, and whispered, "It's the most extraordinary thing—she really means it! She is charming, Jack, charming; I can't say 'No' to her. Come and try what you can do!"

But Jack was not a good hand at saying "No," least of all to charming ladies, and Mrs Wallace took his measure at once, and felt that she had gained a friend.

"I am trying to persuade Miss O'Shaughnessy to lend your little sister to me for a short time every day, to help me with my children," she said, smiling at him under lifted brows. "I understand that you knew nothing about her application, and when I first saw her I felt, as you must have done, that the idea was preposterous, but Viva and Inda fell desperately in love with her, and have talked of nothing else since she left. I think I followed their example, and I am quite sure my husband did. He thinks Mamzelle Paddy would be the solution of all our nursery troubles, if you could be induced to spare her to us. I would be very careful of her; I promise you that!"

Jack looked at Bridgie; Bridgie looked at Jack.

"I'd be delighted that she should help you, and it would be an amusement to her to play with the dear little girls. If she might come as a friend—"

"Oh, Miss O'Shaughnessy, how cruel of you, when her great idea was to help you! She would be a most welcome friend, but I could not consent to using her time without paying for it."

Mrs Wallace had approached this question before, and had discovered that Bridgie was no more embarrassed by a reference to her poverty than had been Mamzelle Paddy herself. "We should think any sum cheap which ensured our little girls being happy and occupied, instead of crying and quarrelling, as I am sorry to say they do now for the greater part of the day. They are too young for regular lessons, but they already know French fairly well, and would soon be able to speak fluently."

"I can't judge of Pixie's French, but her English is so Irish that it was a stroke of genius to offer herself in the character of a foreigner!" said Jack, stroking his moustache, and smiling to himself in whimsical fashion. "Of course, she is quite confident that she could do all you require, but you must not listen to her own account of herself. If you offered Pixie the command of the Channel Fleet, she'd accept without a qualm! If you want the kindest-hearted, most mischievous little ignoramus in the world, Mrs Wallace, it would be waste of time to search any farther, for you have found her already! She will keep your children happy, and never say a word that they wouldn't be the better for hearing, but it won't be the orthodox training! I fancy Pixie was a big surprise to the English boarding-school when she first arrived."

"But she left with the prize for being the most popular and unselfish of the girls! Your sister has just shown me the books with the touching inscription. If she can teach my girlies to be as sweet and helpful, I shall not mind a few eccentricities. Two hours in the morning would not take her away too much from home, and she would have plenty of time left for her own music. Her ambition seemed to be to pay for her own lessons, so if I gave her thirty pounds, she could go to a really good master without feeling that she was overtaxing you. It would be such a pleasure to me too, Miss O'Shaughnessy. I feel sure your brother will agree, if you consent. Please say 'Yes'!"

So it was left to Bridgie to make the final decision, and in after years she used to wonder what would have happened if she had refused her consent! It was a difficult problem, for to her old-fashioned notions it was a trifle infra dig for a girl to work for herself, and it hurt her tender heart that the Piccaninny of all others should be the one to go out into the world.

What would the dear dead mother have said to such a project? What would the Major have said? What would Esmeralda think now, and, thinking, say, with all the impassioned eloquence of which she was mistress? Bridgie reflected earnestly on the questions, while Mrs Wallace watched her face with anxious eyes.

The dear mother had never been able to resign herself to the happy-go- lucky Irish customs, and had died before her time, worn-out with the strain of trying to make both ends meet. When she looked down from heaven with those clear angel eyes, would it seem more noble to her that her baby should preserve a puny social distinction at the cost of a purposeless life, or that she should use the talents which had been given to her for her own good and the good of others?

There could be little doubt how the mother would have decided, and as for the Major, Bridgie smiled with indulgent tenderness as she pictured, one after the other, the swift stages of his behaviour if he had been present to-day. Horror and indignation at the possibility that the Piccaninny should be in subjection to anyone but himself; irritated impatience that the O'Shaughnessys should be expected to pay for what they desired, like any ordinary, commonplace family; chuckling delight over the smartness of the child; and finally an even greater inability than his sons to say "No" to a charming woman! Storm he never so wildly, the Major would undoubtedly have ended by consenting to Mrs Wallace's plea, while Esmeralda's wrath would be kept within bounds by Geoffrey's strong common sense.

Bridgie sighed and looked across the room to where Jack sat.

"If it is left to me," she said slowly, "if I am to decide, I think I will say 'Yes'! She shall come to you for a month on trial, Mrs Wallace, and we can see how it works."

Mrs Wallace beamed with relief and satisfaction.

"That's very kind!" she said. "I am truly grateful. I realise that your decision is unselfish, but believe me, you shall never regret it!"

And Bridgie remembered that prophecy, and smiled over it many times in the happy years to come.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

JACK'S DISCOVERY.

Pixie received the intelligence that she was to begin her new duties on the following Monday with the unruffled composure of one who has expected no other decision. She asked eagerly what salary she was to receive, and was a trifle depressed to find that it did not run to three figures. Thirty pounds sounded very little, though she had only the vaguest notion of its purchasing value, but her ambition had been to supply the whole additional sum which was needed for the support of the household.

Innocent Bridgie had no idea as to what might be expected under the circumstances, but Miss Munns, who knew everything, declared that the offer was a handsome one, and ten pounds in excess of the ordinary rate of payment. Still, as she sagely remarked, one could never tell! People sometimes seemed very generous and pleasant-spoken at first, and then turned out everything that was exacting and unreasonable. Several young friends of her own had gone out as governesses, and met with tragic adventures. Marianne Summers, the cousin of Summers' Celebrated Snowflake Soap, was with a family at Rochester, and nursed a little boy all through scarlatina, and when she had toothache herself the lady said it was most inconvenient because a dinner-party was coming. No consideration whatever, and the food very poor. She was never so much as asked to have a second helping!

"Maybe the lady had so many to help that she forgot to ask her. Couldn't she ask herself? It would have been more friendly than grumbling behind her back," said Pixie severely. "When I go out to meals with people I make myself at home. I went to dejeuner with some friends in Paris, and I was so much at home that when they had cabbage, I remarked that I wished it had been cauliflower. They smiled, and looked quite pleasant!"

Miss Munns looked over her spectacles, and grunted to herself. She considered Pixie O'Shaughnessy a most uncomfortable girl, and was never at ease in her society. She asked embarrassing questions, stared with unconcealed curiosity, while her innocence had a trick of developing into quite remarkable shrewdness at sudden and inappropriate moments. Miss Munns recalled several incidents when the gaze of the childlike eyes had filled her with a most unpleasant embarrassment, and declared that not for fifty thousand pounds would she have that child living in her house!

Bridgie was different. She was invariably anxious to hear further anecdotes concerning relations and friends, and was such a docile pupil in domestic matters, that the old lady had the felicity of practically ruling two households instead of one. In the fervour of her resolve to turn over a new leaf, Bridgie had made no reservations, but had placed herself and her accounts in Miss Munns's hands, and from that moment there was no drawing back. The weekly orders were supervised and cut down, the accounts carefully checked and paid to the hour, the receipts were endorsed and filed, so that they could be produced at a moment's notice; extras were faithfully entered into the housekeeping ledger at the end of each day, and the whole account balanced to a laborious penny. When the penny was very difficult to find, Bridgie pleaded hard to be allowed to supply it from her private purse, and could never be quite brought to see that the result would not be the same, but it was a proud moment when Jack surveyed the ledger on Saturday evenings and wrote, "Examined, and found correct!" with a big flourish underneath the final addition. Then he would stroke his moustache and twinkle at her with amused eyes, as he said—

"Bravo, Bridgie, right to a fraction! I'll ask Miss Munns to take me in hand next—since she has scored such a triumph out of you. Evening classes two or three times a week, with Sylvia to sit by me and sharpen my pencils—that would be a happy way of combining instruction and amusement for the winter evenings, wouldn't it?" and—shades of Esmeralda!—Bridgie smiled, and ejaculated, "You naughty boy!" in a tone as far removed from fault-finding as it is possible to imagine.