She was smiling to herself as at a pleasant
remembrance, and lost no time in entering into conversation.
“I don’t know how it is about butlers—they all love me!” she announced thoughtfully. “The Wallace one turns his back to the sideboard when I talk, and the vegetable-dishes wobble when he hands them round. He tries hard not to laugh, because it’s rude for servants to see a joke, but he really appreciates them frightfully much. Your one has whiskers, too, and isn’t he pleasant to talk to? Not half as proud as he looks. We have just been talking about the basket, because he’d got chickens already, and he asked what he should do with ours. I said we’d take it back, of course, because it would be a treat to us to-night. That was quite right, wasn’t it, Bridgie?”
“Yes, darling, perfectly right!” said Bridgie.
Esmeralda frowned, bit her lip, and finally succumbed, even as the butler had done before her, and laughed with a good grace. She hugged Pixie, and Pixie hugged her back, and chattered away so freely and naturally that it was impossible for restraint to live in her presence.
Esmeralda as usual avoided a formal apology, but when Geoffrey arrived and the little party were seated round the luncheon-table, she made the amende honorable by telling him of the basket incident in the presence of three men-servants with as much unction as if it had given her the most unmitigated delight.
“Thank you, Bridgie, you are a brick! How jolly of you to have taken so much trouble! If I’d known of that chicken before I began lunch, nothing would have induced me to eat anything else!” cried Geoffrey heartily.
There was no snobbishness about him at any rate, and to judge from the glance which his wife cast upon him it was evident that she was quite able to appreciate a quality that was lacking in her own composition.
They seemed very happy together, this young husband and wife, and as Bridgie saw them smile at one another across the table, for no other reason than pure happiness and content in each other’s presence; when Esmeralda announced “Geoffrey says,” as the definite conclusion of any argument, and Geoffrey said quietly, “Esmeralda likes it!” as though the fact debarred all further discussion—when she heard and saw all this, the pain which was so bravely buried in Bridgie’s heart seemed to take a fresh lease of life, and stab her with the memory of dead hopes.