“She understands!” Stephen Glynn said to himself. “That girl’s face has been an object lesson stronger than any words. She understands the difference.”
A moment later he met Pixie’s eyes, and realised afresh the truth of his diagnosis; but she drew herself up with a sort of defiance, and turned sharply aside.
In the train returning to town Pixie sat mute and pallid, and was waited upon assiduously by her sister and brother. To them it seemed natural enough that the poor child should collapse after the strain of parting. Only one person understood the deepest reason of her distress. He offered none of the conventional words of sympathy, and forebore to echo Esmeralda’s rosy pictures of the future. It brought another pang to Pixie’s sore heart to realise that he understood. “But I will be true,” she repeated to herself with insistent energy; “I will be true. I have given my word.” She felt very tired and spent as she lay back in the corner of her cushioned seat. On heart and brain was an unaccustomed weight; her very limbs felt heavy and inert, as if the motive power had failed. Virtue had gone out of her. At the sight of that anguished face, the years of Pixie’s untroubled girlhood had come to an end. Henceforth she was a woman, carrying her own burden. “But I will be true,” she repeated gallantly; “I will be true!”
Chapter Nineteen.
Pixie seeks Advice.
A tall young man lay stretched upon a narrow bed which filled an entire wall of the one and only sitting-room in a diminutive London flat. On the wall opposite was a fireplace and a small sideboard; against the third wall stood a couple of upright chairs. In the centre of the room stood a table. A wicker arm-chair did duty for an invalid tray, and held a selection of pipes, books, and writing materials, also a bottle of medicine, and a plate of unappetising biscuits.
The young man took up one of the biscuits, nibbled a crumb from the edge, and aimed the remainder violently at a picture at the other end of the room. It hit, and the biscuit broke into pieces, but the glass remained intact, a result which seemed far from satisfactory to the onlooker. He fumbled impatiently for matches with which to light his pipe, touched the box with the tips of his outstretched fingers, and jerked it impatiently, whereupon it rolled on to the floor to a spot just a couple of inches beyond the utmost stretch of his arm. There it lay—obvious and aggravating, tempting, baffling, inaccessible. Pipe and tobacco lay at hand to supply the soothing which he so sorely needed at the end of a lonely, suffering day, and for the want of that box they might as well have been a mile away! A bell was within reach, but what use to ring that when no one was near to hear? The slovenly woman who called herself a working housekeeper found it necessary to sally forth each afternoon on long shopping expeditions, and during her absence her master had to fend for himself as best he might.