“You may talk till doomsday, Esmeralda,” said Pixie quietly, “but I shall keep my word!”
Mentally Pixie had been deeply impressed by the other’s confidences, and not a little perturbed thereby, but it was against her sense of loyalty to allow such feelings to appear. To her own heart she confessed that she was altogether without this strange sense of elation, this mysterious new birth which Esmeralda considered all important under the circumstances. She was certainly happy, for with Stanor’s coming the cloud which had hovered over the house had begun to disperse. She had opened her own eyes to the good news of Jack’s first sleep, and each day the improvement had continued, while Stanor motored over, to sit by her side, cheering her, saying loving, gentle things, building castles in the air of a life together. ... Yes, she was very happy, but ... she had been happy before, there was nothing astoundingly, incredibly new in her sensations.
Pixie sent her thoughts back into the past, endeavouring to recall recollections of Joan’s engagement, of Bridgie’s, of Jack’s. Yes, certainly they had all become exceedingly different under the new conditions. She recalled in especial Bridgie’s face beneath her bridal veil. Child as she herself had been at that time she had been arrested by that expression: nor had she been allowed to forget it, for from time to time during the last six years she had seen it again. “The shiny look!” she had christened it in her thoughts. Sweet and loving were Bridgie’s eyes for every soul that breathed, but that one particular look shone for one person alone! Pixie’s heart contracted in a pang of longing; it was almost like the pang she had felt in the drawing-room of Holly House on that dread afternoon when the news of her father’s death had been broken to her—a pang of longing, a sore, sore feeling of something wanting. She shivered, then drew herself together with indignant remembrance. She was engaged! What sentiments were these for an engaged girl? How could she feel a blank when still more love was added to her share?
“If you talk till doomsday, Esmeralda, I’ll keep my word. Stanor loves me and says I can help him. I said I would, and, me dear, I will! We’ve been through a lot of trouble this last week, isn’t it a pity to try to make more for no good? My mind’s made up!”
Joan Hilliard was silent. In her heart of hearts she realised that there was nothing more to say. Pixie was Pixie. As well try to move a mountain from its place, as persuade that sweet, loving, most loyal of creatures to draw back from a solemn pledge. Something might be done with Stanor perhaps, or, failing Stanor, through that erratic person, his uncle. She must consult with Geoffrey and Bridgie, together they might insist upon a period of waiting and separation before a definite engagement was announced. Pixie was still under age. Until her twenty-first birthday her guardians might safely demand a delay. Joan knew that Stanor Vaughan had had passing fancies before now, and had little belief that the present entanglement would prove more lasting. Circumstances had induced a special intimacy with Pixie, but when they were separated he would repent.—If he himself set Pixie free! ... So far did Joan’s thoughts carry her, then, looking at the girl’s happy face, she felt a sharp pang of contrition.
“Me dear, I want you to be happy! If it makes you happy to marry Stanor, I’ll give you my blessing, and the finest trousseau that money can buy. You’re young yet, and he has his way to make. You’ll have to wait patiently, for a few years, until he can make a home, but it’s a happy time, being engaged. I feel defrauded myself to have had so little of it. Storing up things in a bottom drawer, and picking up old furniture at sales, and polishing it up so lovingly, thinking of where it is going, and letters coming and going, and looking forward to the time when he’ll come down next—’tis a beautiful time. Three or four years ought to pass like a trice!”
“Besides leaving plenty of time to change your mind. I know you, me dear!” cried Pixie shrewdly. “I see through you! You’ll be relieved to hear that the date has not been mentioned, but you can start with the trousseau as soon as you please. I’ll take it in quarterly instalments, and spin out the pleasure, besides sparing my friends the shock of seeing me suddenly turn grand. My affianced suitor is coming to proffer a formal demand for my hand. Will ye be kind to him now, and give him some tea?”
“I will,” said Joan readily. To herself she added: “We are all alike, we O’Shaughnessys, we will be led, but we will not be driven. It’s no use appearing to object! Things must just take their course...”