the_love_affairs_of_pixie.txt Part 20

Stephen Glynn leaned back in his chair and looked affectionately at Pat's dark, handsome face.

Twelve months before the two men had been introduced at a dinner following a big cricket match in which Pat had distinguished himself by a fine innings.

Stephen Glynn from his seat on the grand stand had applauded with the rest of the great audience, and looking at the printed card in his hand had wondered whether by chance P.D. O'Shaughnessy was any relation of the Irish Pixie to whom Stanor Vaughan had wished to be engaged. The wonder changed to certainty a few hours later on as he was introduced to the young player, and met the gaze of his straight, dark eyes! Pat was the handsomest of the three brothers, nevertheless it was not so much of beautiful Joan Hilliard that the beholder was reminded, at this moment, as of the younger sister, who had no beauty at all, for Esmeralda's perfect features lacked the irradiation of kindliness and humour which characterised Pat and Pixie alike.

Stephen Glynn was not given to sudden fancies, but Pat O'Shaughnessy walked straight into his heart at that first meeting, and during the year which followed the acquaintance so begun had ripened into intimacy.

Stephen spent a great part of his time in chambers in town, where the young man became a welcome guest, and no sooner had Pat soared to the giddy height of possessing a flat of his own, and settled down as a householder, than the accident had happened which made him dependent on the visits of his friends.

Pat was aware of Stephen's connection with his family, and more especially with Pixie, but after one brief reference the subject had been buried, though Pixie herself was frequently mentioned. There was a portrait of her on Pat's mantelpiece to which Stephen's eyes often strayed during his visits to the flat. Truth to tell it was not a flattering portrait. Pixie was unfortunate so far as photography was concerned, since all her bad points were reproduced and her charm disappeared. Stephen wondered if Stanor were gazing at the same photograph in New York, and if his imagination were strong enough to supply the want. For himself he had no difficulty. So vivid was his recollection that even as he looked the set face of the photograph seemed to flash into smiles...

"Well, I am glad you have given in," he said, continuing his sentence after a leisurely pause, "because my threat was real. I should certainly have written to your people if you hadn't done it yourself.

You are not being properly looked after, young man. To put it bluntly, you are not having enough to eat. When do you expect that obnoxious old female to come back and make tea?"

"'Deed, I've given over expecting," said Pat despondently. "Most days I'm ready to drink the teapot by the time she brings it in. It's a toss up if we _get_ it at all to-day as she's gone out."

Stephen rose to his tall height and stood smiling down at the tired face.

"You shall have it, my boy. I'll make it myself. It won't be the first time. Have you any idea where the crocks live? I don't want to upset--"

Before he could complete his sentence, a thunderous knocking sounded at the front door, causing both hearers to start with astonishment. So loud, so vigorous, so long continued was the a.s.sault, that the first surprise deepened into indignation, and Pat's dark eyes sent out a threatening flash.

"This is _too_ strong! Lost her key, I suppose, and expects me to crawl on all fours to let her in. You go, Glynn, and send her straight here to me! I'll give her a bit of my mind. I'm just in the mood to do it.

Leaving me alone for hours and then knocking down my door--!"

Stephen Glynn crossed the floor, his face set into an alarming sternness, for his irritation against his friend's neglectful domestic had been growing for weeks, and this was the culminating point. He seized the handle, turned it quietly, and jerked the door open with a disconcerting suddenness which had the effect of precipitating the new-comer into his arms.

"Me _dear_!" she cried rapturously, as she fell, but the same moment she was upright again, bolt upright, scorching him with disdainful glance.

"It's not!--Where am I? ... They _said_ it was Mr O'Shaughnessy's flat!"

"It is! It is! Pixie! Pixie! Come in, come quick! Oh, you blessed little simpleton, what's the meaning of this? You'd no business to come. There's no room for you. I'm nearly well now. There's no need-- I--I--oh, _Pixie_!" and poor, tired, hungry Pat lay back weakly in his sister's arms, and came perilously near subsiding into tears. It had been hard work keeping up his p.e.c.k.e.r all these long weeks, it was so overwhelmingly home-like to see Pixie's face, and listen to her deep mellow tones...

"There's _got_ to be room, me dear, for I've come to stay. How dare you be ill by yourself? It's a bad effect London has had on you to make you so close and secretive. You! Who yelled the roof down if you as much as scratched your finger! We got the note this morning--"

"Glynn made me send it. He's been worrying at me for weeks. Glynn!"

Pat raised his voice to a cry. "Where are you? Come in, you beggar.

It's Pixie! My sister Pixie. Come and shake hands."

Stephen and Pixie advanced to meet each other, red in the face and bashful of eye. The encounter at the door had been so momentary that she had hardly had time to recognise the pale face with the deep blue eyes, but for him the first note of her voice had been sufficient.

"I--I thought you were Pat!"

"I--I thought you were the cook."

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 a.s.sented 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 d.i.c.k at the same time. You know what she is when d.i.c.k 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 a.s.sert 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!"

They went out of the room together, while Pat called out an eager, "Don't be long!"

It was only a step into the tiny kitchen. In another moment Stephen and Pixie stood within its portals, and she had closed the door behind with a careful hand. Her face had sobered, and there was an anxious furrow in her forehead.

"He looks _ill_!" she said breathlessly. "Worse than I expected. He said he was getting well. Please tell me honestly--Is it _true_?"

"Perfectly true in one sense. The knee is doing well, but his general health has suffered. He has been lonely and underfed, and at the first there was considerable pain. I did my best to make him write to you before, for he is not fit to be left alone. That servant is lazy and inefficient."

Pixie glanced round the untidy room with her nose tilted high.

"'Twill be a healthful shock for her to come back and find a mistress in possession. We'll have a heart to heart talk to-morrow morning," she announced, with so quaint an a.s.sumption of severity that Stephen was obliged to laugh. She laughed with him, struggling out of her coat, and looking round daintily for a place to lay it.

"That nail on the door! There's not a clean spot. Now for the kettle!

You fill it, while I rummage. What's the most unlikely place for the tea? It will be there. She's the sort of muddler who'd leave it loose among the potatoes."

"It's in the caddy. The brown box on the dresser. I've found it before."

"The caddy!" Pixie looked quite annoyed at so obvious a find. "Oh, so it is. Where's the b.u.t.ter then, and the bread, and the sugar? Where's the spoons? Where does she put the cloths? Rake out that bottom bar to make a draught. Does he get feverish at nights? It's a mercy I brought a cake, for I don't believe there's a _thing_. Does he take it strong?"

She was bustling about as she spoke, opening and shutting drawers, standing on tip-toe to peer over kitchen shelves, lifting the lids of dishes upon the dresser. One question succeeded fast upon another, but she did not trouble herself to wait for a reply, and Stephen, watching with a flickering smile, was quite nonplussed when at last she paused, as if expectant of an answer.

"What strong?"

"_Tea_! What else could it be? We were talking of tea."

"I beg your pardon. So we were. Yes, he does like it strong, and there's only one set of cups, white with a gold rim. There were two left the other day, but it's quite possible they have disappeared. She is a champion breaker."

"We'll have tumblers then," Pixie said briskly. "The nicest tea I ever had was at a seaside inn where we made it ourselves in a bedroom to save the expense. Oh, _here_ they are, and here's the milk. Now we shan't be long!" Then suddenly, standing before the cupboard door, and tilting her head over her shoulder, "_When did you hear from Stanor_?" she asked, in a still, altered voice which struck like a blow.

Stephen Glynn gave no outward sign of surprise, yet that sudden question had sent racing half a dozen pulses, as voicing the words in his own mind. "When did you hear from Stanor? _What_ do you hear from Stanor?"

The first sight of the girl's face had added intensity to the curiosity of years--a curiosity which within the last months had changed into anxiety. He hesitated before answering the simple question.

"He does not write often. We had a good deal of correspondence when he decided to stay in New York the extra six months. He seems to have acclimatised wonderfully, and to be absorbed in his work, unusually absorbed for his age."