ALAS FOR TRIX!
"And after to-night we will all have a rest, thank Heaven! and my pilgrimage will come to an end. A fortnight at Powyss Place before you go up to London, my dear Mrs. Stuart—not a day less."
Thus Lady Helena Powyss, eight days later, seated luxuriously in the first-class carriage, and flying along by express train between Dublin and Kingston, en route for Cheshire.
They had "done" the south of Ireland, finished the Lakes, spent a pleasant half-week in Dublin, and now, in the light of the May afternoon, were flying along to meet the channel boat.
Captain Hammond was of the party still, and included in the invitation to Powyss Place. He sat between Lady Helena and Sir Victor now—Miss Stuart, in charming travelling costume, in the sunny seat next the window. On the opposite seat, at the other extreme end, sat Edith Darrell, her eyes riveted upon the pages of a book.
Since that night in the boat Miss Stuart had quietly but resolutely taken entire possession of Sir Victor. He was hers—she had the right. If a gentleman is modest to a fault, mayn't a lady overstep, by an inch or two, the line that Mrs. Grundy draws, and meet him half way? There is an adage about helping a lame dog over a stile—that work of mercy is what Trixy was doing now.
Before she left her room on the ensuing morning following that never-to-be-forgotten night, Edith had entered and taken Trix in her arms and kissed her.
"I was stupid and out of sorts last night, Trixy," she had said. "If I seemed churlish, I ask your pardon, dear, with all my heart I was surprised—I don't mind owning that—and perhaps a little, just a little, envious. But all that is over now, and I do wish you joy and happiness from the bottom of my heart. You're the best and dearest girl in the world, and deserve your fairy fortune."
And she had meant it. Trix was one of the best and dearest girls in the world, and if Sir Victor preferred her to herself, what right had she to grudge her her luck. Against the baronet himself, she felt anger deep and strong still. How dared he seek her out as he had done, select her for his confidante, and look love in fifty different ways, when he meant to marry Trix? What a fool she might have made of herself had she been a whit less proud than she was. Since then she had avoided him; in no marked manner, perhaps, but she had avoided him. He should pour no more family confidences into her ear, that she resolved. He belonged to Trix—let him talk to Trix, then; she wanted no other girl's lover. If he felt this avoidance, he showed no sign. Perhaps he thought Miss Stuart had dropped some hint—girls, despite their promises, have been known to do such things—and this change was becoming maidenly reserve. Sir Victor liked maidenly reserve—none of your Desdemonas, who meet their Othellos half way, for him. Trixy's unremitting attentions were sisterly, of course. He felt grateful accordingly, and strove to repay her in kind. One other thing he observed, too, and with great complacency—the friendship between Miss Darrell and her Cousin Charley had come to an end. That is to say, they rather kept aloof from each other—beyond the most ordinary attention, Mr. Stuart seemed to have nothing whatever to say to his cousin. This was as it should be; certainly Beatrix must have dropped that very judicious hint. He was glad he had spoken to her.
They reached Kingston in the early twilight, and embarked. It was rough crossing, of course. Trix was seized with agonies of mal de mer once more. Edith waited upon her assiduously. Mrs. Stuart and Lady Helena had a stewardess apiece. Happily, if severe, it was short; before midnight they were at Holyhead, and on the train once more. Then off—flying through Wales—whirling by mountains—illuminated glass stations—the broad sea to their left, asleep under the stars, the spray at times almost in their faces. Past villages, ruins, castles, and cottages, and at two in the morning thundering into the big station at Chester.