“Joan O’Shaughnessy, what’s happened to you to talk in such a fashion this day? You, that doesn’t know the meaning of work, to be sighing and groaning that you haven’t enough to do! You, to be saying that it would cheer you to be busy, when ye sigh like a furnace and grumble the day long if you have to work for an hour on end! I’ve heard ye say with my own ears that if you had your own way, you would never do another hand’s turn, and of all the lazy, idle girls—”
“Wouldn’t it perhaps be wise if you looked which way you were going? The ground is rough, and I’m afraid you will have a fall,” interposed Hilliard mildly; not that he was in truth the least bit anxious about this strange child’s safety, or could not have witnessed her downfall with equanimity, but in pity for Esmeralda’s embarrassment she could not be allowed to continue her tirade indefinitely. He was rewarded by a melting glance, as the beauty sighed once more, and said, in a tone of sweet forbearance—
“She does not understand! She has been away, and that’s not the sort of work I meant; and besides—”
She stopped short, for she could not think how to finish the sentence, and the fear of Pixie was ever before her eyes. It was in a different and much more natural voice that she again took up her explanation. “Perhaps I was mistaken in saying it was work I wanted, but it is certainly interest. I have never been farther away than Dublin, and I get so tired and weary of it all, and have such a longing for something fresh. The others don’t feel it, for they are so fond of the place; but I’m restless. I feel pent in, knowing the world is moving on and on all the time, and I am shut up here, and sometimes the longing comes over me so strongly that it’s more than I can bear, and I fall into—”
“A rage!” said Pixie calmly. Esmeralda had paused just long enough to draw that short eloquent breath which adds so largely to the eloquence of a peroration, and was preparing to roll out a tragic “despair,” when that tiresome child must needs interfere and spoil everything by her suggestion. Esmeralda’s anger was quickly roused, but fortunately even quicker still was her sense of humour. For a moment clouds and sunshine struggled together upon her face, then the sunshine prevailed, she looked at Hilliard, beheld him biting his lips in a vain effort to preserve composure, and went off into peal after peal of rich, melodious laughter.
“Next time I wish to talk at my ease, it’s not bringing you out with me I’ll be, Pixie O’Shaughnessy!” she cried between her gasps; and Hilliard’s merry “Ho! ho! ho!” rang out in echo.
“She is indeed a most painfully honest accompanist. I am thankful that I have no small brothers to give me away in return. You give your sister a very bad character, Miss Pixie; but you seem very little in awe of her, I notice. She must possess some redeeming qualities to make up for the bad ones you have quoted.”
Pixie bent her head in benignant assent, as one bound by honesty to see both sides of a question and to deal out praise with blame.
“She’s idle,” she said judicially, “and she’s hasty, but she’s sorry afterwards. The more awful her temper, the quicker she’s sorry. The night after you left—”
“Thank you, Pixie, you can spare us further domestic revelations!” cried Esmeralda, flushing in lovely confusion, and keeping her face turned away from the merry blue eyes so persistently bent upon her. “There’s one comfort, Mr Hilliard. You know the worst of me now, and there is nothing more to dread. Pixie has spoiled my chance of posing as a blighted genius, and shown me as just a bad-tempered, discontented girl who has not the sense to be satisfied with her position. I’m sorry, for it would have been interesting to hear you talk like the clever, intellectual people in books, and perhaps, if I had kept very quiet and agreed with all you said, you wouldn’t have discovered my ignorance for quite a long time to come.”