She straightened at that, with a flash of half-resentful curiosity.
“Why? Am I so like her? And do you always—”
“No, I don’t. Never. But to-day she was out and your brother wanted—”
“Oh, never mind, never mind!” Pat was too greedy for attention to suffer a long explanation. “What does it matter? She’s a wretch, Pixie, and she goes out and leaves me to starve. That good Samaritan was going to make tea when we heard your knock.”
“I’ll make it for you!” Pixie said smiling, but she seated herself by Pat’s side as she spoke, and slid her hand through his arm, as though realising that for the moment her presence was the most welcome of all refreshments. She wore a smartly cut tweed coat and skirt, and a soft felt hat with a pheasant’s wing, and her brown shoes looked quite preposterously small and bright. In some indefinable way she looked older and more responsible than the Pixie of two years before, and Stephen noticed the change and wondered as to its cause.
“I think I will go now,” he said hastily; “your sister will look after you, O’Shaughnessy, and you will have so much to talk about. I’ll come again!”
But Pat was obstinate; he insisted that his friend should stay on, and appealed to Pixie for support, which she gave with great good will.
“Please do! We’ll talk the better for having an audience. Won’t we now, Pat? We were always vain.”
“We were!” Pat assented with unction. “Especially yourself. Even as a child you played up to the gallery.” He took her hand and squeezed it tightly between his own. “Pixie, I can’t believe it! It’s too nice to be true. And Bridgie, what does she say? Does she approve of your coming?”
“She did one moment, and the next she didn’t. She was torn in pieces, the poor darling, wanting to come to you herself, and to stay with Dick at the same time. You know what she is when Dick is ill! His temperature has only to go up one point, to have her weeping about Homes for Soldiers’ Orphans, and pondering how she can get most votes. He’s buried with military honours, poor Richard, every time he takes a cold. So I was firm with her, and just packed my things and came off. At my age,” she straightened herself proudly, “one must assert oneself! I asked her what was the use of being twenty-two, and how she’d have liked it herself if she’d been thwarted at that age, and she gave in and packed up remedies.” Pixie picked up the brown leather bag which lay on the floor, and opening it, took out the contents in turns, and laid them on the sofa. “A tonic to build up the system. Beef-juice, to ditto. Embrocation to be applied to the injured part. ... Tabloids. Home-made cake. ... Oh, that tea! I’d forgotten. I’ll make it at once, and we’ll eat the cake now.” She jumped up and looked appealingly towards Stephen. “Will you show me the kitchen? I don’t know my way through these lordly fastnesses!”