“Because it was my last chance, and I had asked you especially to be there. Because I had stayed on purpose to have another ride with you! That’s the true reason, so far as I am concerned. I am sure, if you told Miss Bridgie the truth, she wouldn’t have the heart to say No.”
Esmeralda looked down at the table and crumbled bread thoughtfully. She was by no means so sure. Bridgie was enough of a mother to take fright at such an open declaration of interest. She would not be so rash as to repeat the conversation verbatim, but go to that meet she would, let Bridgie refuse ten times over, let every horse disappear from the stable. Go she would, if she had to borrow the pedlar’s pony and ride barebacked all the way. Such was the mental decision; aloud she said languidly—
“Don’t know, I’m sure! Perhaps I may be too tired. I’ll see when the time comes,” and stretched out her hand to beckon Pixie to her side.
Hilliard smiled quietly. He had an extraordinary way of seeing through Esmeralda’s pretences, and he welcomed Pixie as genially as if the tête-à-tête were of no consequence in his eyes.
“Well, little white New Year, are you coming to sit down beside us? Have you had no supper yet? I am sure you must be hungry after all your exertions. Let me wait upon you now, in return for all the pleasure you have given me by your charming singing.”
But no, Pixie refused to sit down or to eat any of the good things pressed upon her. For once in her life jellies and creams, even meringues themselves, failed to tempt her appetite, for she was feasting on an even sweeter diet—that of unlimited flattery and praise. As she strolled to and fro among the guests she was greeted on every side with words of commendation for her singing, her charming impersonation of the character assigned to her, and by the more facetious members of the party implored to smile kindly upon them, to promise them her favour, and to remember their especial desires. It was not likely that she was going to sit down in a corner of the room with no one but her sister and that stupid Mr Hilliard, who did nothing but stare at Esmeralda, as if he had never seen a girl before. She shook her head as he pointed to a chair, but lingered a moment to allow him to examine her costume and pay the proper tribute of praise.
“It’s charming—quite charming—so simple, and yet so effective. Those few loose flowers are much better than a formal bouquet, and the scroll—who made the scroll? It is most professional, and I see you have a pencil hanging by the side,—white,—to match the rest.” He lifted it as he spoke, and made as though about to write, but at that Pixie drew back in dismay.
“No, you mustn’t! Be careful,—you must be careful. It won’t rub out.”
She walked hastily away, and the two who were left looked at each other, half sad, half smiling, for the words went home with a meaning deeper than any which the speaker had intended to convey.
“Be careful. It won’t rub out,” repeated Hilliard slowly. “That’s a good motto for the New Year. I don’t know that one could have a better. I shall remember that, and the scroll all white and unmarked. I wonder what will be written there before the year is done?”