“I didn’t like to ask before, but I can’t leave without knowing, darling. Have you heard?”
Bridgie shook her head mutely, and the lines which Pixie had noticed deepened round her eyes and mouth, but the eyes smiled still—a brave, steady smile.
“I never shall hear now, Joan. I’ve made up my mind to that.”
“I don’t know how you bear it! I can’t think how you manage to be so composed and cheerful! If Geoff had treated me like that, it would have soured me for life. You were never sour from the first, and now you seem quite happy. Yet, as Pixie says, you have a pathetic look which shows that you have not really forgotten. You still care, Bridgie dear?”
“I shall always care,” said Bridgie quietly. “There’s an ache at the back of my heart, but there are so many things at the front that it gets crowded out. Besides, you know, Esmeralda darling, I don’t want to seem to praise myself, but it’s a trouble which God has sent me, and I ask Him every night to help me to bear it in the right way. It wouldn’t be the right way to let the shadow of it darken other lives besides my own. If I moped and grizzled, everyone in the house would be uncomfortable, and they have their own worries, poor creatures, without suffering for mine! I made an excellent rule for my own benefit—to laugh downstairs and cry in my own room, and it answers beautifully, for I’m so tired when I get to bed that I’ve no sooner begun repining than I wake up and find it’s morning. You try it, dear, when you’ve got a worry. You’ll find it splendid!”
Esmeralda shook her head.
“Not for me! What I feel I must show, and sooner than I feel it, if that is possible. If I tried to bottle up my feelings it would make me ill, and the explosion would be all the greater when it did come. My only chance is to get it over as soon as possible, but in your case it is a long slow suspense, which is worse than any definite trouble. You are an angel, dear, to bear it as you do! It’s mysterious that it should have come to you and not me, for you didn’t need discipline, and I, who was always the naughty one, have got all that I want—Geoffrey, and home, and the dear little boy. You must come soon, Bridgie, to see the boy. He will be getting teeth and all sorts of luxuries, and his godmother ought to be there to look after him.”
Esmeralda rose and strolled over to the glass to arrange her hat and pin on a filmy veil. “I must go downstairs now, and say good-bye to Miss Trevor. Don’t hurry, dear, if you have anything to do. We don’t leave for a quarter of an hour still.”
Unsuspecting Bridgie trotted away to the kitchen to give some orders, while Esmeralda sailed into the drawing-room, all smiles and amiability. A peal of laughter greeted her ears as she entered, and there sat Pixie perched on the end of the sofa, with her hands clasped round her knees, and her chin poked forward, enjoying to the full the discovery of a new audience, who was apparently as much interested in the sayings and doings of the O’Shaughnessy family as she was herself.
Both girls looked up as the rustle of silks heralded Mrs Hilliard’s approach, but while the younger remained serenely composed, Sylvia’s lips tightened, and her eyes gave out an ominous flash. It was as if she felt an antagonistic spirit in the air, and braced herself for the conflict. Yet nothing could have been more friendly than Esmeralda’s smile—more cordial than her voice.