Bridgie would have given a fortune to be able to see what was in “the child’s” head at that moment, to know what she was really thinking. The sisters walked together to the door, Pat, on his stick, bringing up the rear, and stood watching Stephen descend. Once and again he looked up, smiled, and waved his hand, and as he did so his eyes had the same piteous glance which Pixie had noticed on their first meeting. The expression of those upturned eyes hurt all three onlookers in different degrees, and sent them back to their little room with downcast looks.
“Now he’ll bury himself in the country again and mope! It’s been the making of him being here in town. Goodness knows what will happen to him now!” said Pat, dropping on to the couch with an impatient sigh, and Bridgie murmured softly—
“The dear, man! The dear man! So hard for, him to be alone. But you needn’t be anxious, Pat. He’s so good. He’ll be looked after! ... Don’t you think, now, his eyes are the least thing in the world like Dick’s?”
“Not the least least!” snapped Pixie, and that was her one contribution to the conversation.
And now it was Thursday—Thursday afternoon, within an hour, of the time fixed by telegram for Stanor’s arrival. Pat had elected to stay in bed, in consequence of what he called headache and his sisters translated as “sulks.” He didn’t want to see the fellow. ... What was the fellow to him? Didn’t know how the fellow had the face to turn up at all, after dawdling away an extra six months. Hoped to goodness the fellow would make short work of it and be off, as he wanted to get up for dinner.
In her heart Bridgie agreed with each sentiment in turn, but she felt it her duty to be stern and bracing.
“’Deed, and I hope so, too! Else I shall have to sit here, and you’re not the best company. I’m your guest, me dear—if you haven’t the heart to be civil ye might at least have the good manners! My little Jack would never dr–eam—”
“Little prig he must be, then,” mumbled Pat; but the reproof went home, and he grumbled no more.
Just before the clock struck the hour Bridgie paid a flying visit to the little sitting-room to see that the tea-table was set, the kettle on the hob, the dish of hot scones on the brass stand in the fender, and everything ready to hand, so that no one need enter unless specially summoned. She found Pixie standing gazing into the fire, and started with surprise and disappointment.
“Pixie, your dress! That dull old thing? Why not your pink? Me dear, you’ve time. ... There’s still time. ... Run off and change it!”