“I did,” assented Pixie, but the quick ears of the listener detected a hint of hesitation in the sound. The dark eyebrows arched in haughty questioning, and Pixie, no whit abashed, shrugged her shoulders and confessed with a laugh: “But to tell you the truth, my dear, it was not so much for helping, as for having a good time for myself, that I started on this trip. Bridgie said I’d been domestic long enough, and needed to play for a change, and there’s a well of something bubbling up inside me that longs, simply longs, for a vent. Of course, if one could combine the two...”
Joan Hilliard looked silently into the girl’s bright face and made a mental comparison. She thought of the round of change and amusement which constituted her own life, and then of the little house in the northern city in which Pixie’s last years had been spent; of the monotonous, if happy, round of duties, every day the same, from year’s end to year’s end, of the shortage of means, of friends, of opportunities, and a wave of compunction overwhelmed her. Esmeralda never did things by halves; neither had she any false shame about confessing her faults.
“I’m a selfish brute,” she announced bluntly. “I deserve to be punished. If I go on like this I shall be some day! I’m always thinking of myself, when I’m not in a temper with some one else. It’s an awful thing, Pixie, to be born into the world with a temper. And now, Geoff has inherited it from me.” She sighed, shook the reins, and brightened resolutely. “Never mind, you shall have a good time, darling! There’s a girl staying in the house now—you’ll like her—and two young men, and lots of people coming in and out.”
Pixie heaved a sigh of beatific content.
“To-night? At once? That’s what I love—to tumble pell-mell into a whirl of dissipation. I never could bear to wait. I’m pining to see Geoffrey and the boys, and all your wonderful new possessions. You must be happy, Esmeralda, to have so much, and be so well, and pretty, and rich. Aren’t you just burstingly happy?”
Joan did not answer. She stared ahead over the horse’s head with a strange, rapt look in the wonderful eyes. An artist would have loved to paint her at that moment, but it would not have been as a type of happiness. The expression spoke rather of struggle, of restlessness, and want—a spiritual want which lay ever at the back of the excitement and glamour, clamouring to be filled.
Pixie looked at her sister, just once, and then averted her eyes. Hers was the understanding which springs from love, and she realised that her simple question had struck a tender spot. Instead of waiting for an answer she switched the conversation to ordinary, impersonal topics, and kept it there until the house was reached.
Tea was waiting in the large inner hall, and the girl visitor came forward to be introduced and shake hands. She was a slim, fair creature with masses of hair of a pale flaxen hue, swathed round her head, and held in place by large amber pins. Not a hair was out of place—the effect was more like a bandage of pale brown silk than ordinary human locks. Her dress was made in the extreme of the skimpy fashion, and her little feet were encased in the most immaculate of silk shoes and stockings. She looked Pixie over in one quick, appraising glance, and Pixie stared back with widened eyes.
“My sister, Patricia O’Shaughnessy,” declaimed Esmeralda. Whereupon the strange girl bowed and repeated, “Miss Pat-ricia O’Shaughnessy. Pleased to meet you,” in a manner which proclaimed her American birth as unmistakably as a flourish of the Stars and Stripes.
Then tea was brought in, and two young men joined the party, followed by the host, Geoffrey Hilliard, who gave the warmest of welcomes to his little sister-in-law. His kiss, the grasp of his hand, spoke of a deeper feeling than one of mere welcome, and Pixie had an instant perception that Geoffrey, like his wife, felt in need of help. The first glance had shown him more worn and tired than a man should be who has youth, health, a beautiful wife, charming children, and more money than he knows how to spend; but whatever hidden troubles might exist, they were not allowed to shadow this hour of meeting.