"Upon my word," cried the d.u.c.h.ess with unction, "this Bridgie appears to be a remarkably sensible young woman! My experience has been that I rarely meet a joke that is not my own exclusive property, to judge by the faces of my companions. Do you happen to possess a name, my youthful philosopher? I should like to know to whom I am talking."

"I'm Pixie O'Shaughnessy, and Geoffrey married my sister Esmeralda. He came over to Ireland and fell in love with her in spite of me telling him about her bad temper, thinking of course that he was a perfect stranger. I apologised to him after it was settled and said there was nothing really wrong with her, for she'd always rather be pleasant than not, only at times it's easier to be nasty, and she's been lazy from her youth. The night they met they mistook each other for ghosts, and Esmeralda clung to his arm and screeched for help.

"There was never a thing that girl was frightened at, all her life, until now, and, would you believe it?--it's her own servants! Of course in Ireland they were like friends, as free and easy as we were ourselves, and entering into the conversation at table; but Geoffrey's Englishmen are so solemn and proper that she lives in terror of shocking their feelings. One day the butler found her kissing Geoffrey, believing they were alone, and she waited for him to say, 'Allow me, madam!' as he always does if she ventures to do a hand's turn for herself. She's says it's dispiriting to think you can't even quarrel in peace for fear of interruption, and it takes a good deal to interrupt Esmeralda when once she's started."

The d.u.c.h.ess screwed up her bright little eyes, and her shoulders shook beneath her black lace cape. Sylvia and her companion, watching the strangely a.s.sorted pair from across the room, saw Pixie move nearer and nearer, and whisper a long dramatic history; saw the d.u.c.h.ess nod her head in appreciation of the various points, and heard the burst of laughter which greeted the _denouement_. Everyone stopped talking and stared with inquiring eyes. Esmeralda turned towards the lounge, anxiety thinly disguised by smiles, and, seeing her, the d.u.c.h.ess rose from her seat with a sigh of regret.

"Your sister is a born story-teller, Mrs Hilliard. I wish I had more time to listen. Please ask me to meet her again! It is a long time since I have been so amused."

Here was praise indeed! Esmeralda beamed with satisfaction, and seized Pixie's hand with an unusual outburst of affection.

"How n.o.ble of you, dear! She was looking as bored as bored, and I was at my wits' end. What did you tell her that made her laugh like that?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just things about ourselves, and the adventures at home. 'Twas the beeswax pudding that pleased her most," said Pixie easily, and wondered at Esmeralda's sudden extinction of interest.

"Now what disclosures has that child been making next!" cried the freckled girl, looking on at this little scene with curious eyes. "I doubt whether Esmeralda appreciates them as much as the d.u.c.h.ess. We used to say at home that if there was one thing which should not be revealed, Pixie was bound to choose it as the subject of conversation on the first possible occasion! And she was so sweet and innocent about it, too, that it was impossible to be angry. I expect you have found out that for yourself?"

"Yes--No!" said Sylvia absently, for she was thinking less of what she was saying than of certain phrases which her companion had just uttered.

"We used to say at home." Who was this, then, who had known Pixie O'Shaughnessy in bygone days--could it by any chance be the dreaded rival towards whom she was prepared to cherish so ardent a dislike? She stared at the honest, kindly face, and felt that it would be difficult to harbour a prejudice against its owner, even if--if-- "Are you Miss Burrell?" she asked, and Mollie smiled a.s.sent.

"I am that, and you are Sylvia Trevor. I've heard about you from--"

"Bridgie--yes! We have been great friends all winter."

"Not Bridgie--no! We had so much to discuss about the old place and its people, that I'm afraid we have never mentioned your name. It was not Bridgie."

"Oh!" said Sylvia, and stared across the room. It might, of course, have been Esmeralda herself who had enlightened Miss Burrell's ignorance, but there was a mysterious something in the girl's manner which gave a different impression. She was too proud to ask questions, and Miss Burrell volunteered no information, but smiled to herself as at an interesting reminiscence. It seemed as though what she had heard had been of a distinctly pleasant character!

Sylvia returned home feeling mysteriously happy and elated, and the sight of a letter addressed to herself in her father's handwriting put the finishing touch on her satisfaction. She took it upstairs to her own room, and sat herself down on the one comfortable chair which she possessed, to read its contents with undisturbed enjoyment. She was in no hurry to break the seal, however, for it was so pleasant just to hold the letter in her hand, and lean back comfortably against the cushions, and dream.

The dreams, it is true, were mostly concerned with the events of the afternoon, and Mollie Burrell's intent and kindly scrutiny; but it was like the old times when she had thought her own thoughts with her hand clasped in that of the dear old dad, and the touch of the sheet on which his fingers had rested brought back the old feeling of strength and security. She had told him much about her new friends, and he seemed always to wish to hear more, asking carefully veiled questions, the meaning of which were perfectly understood by his shrewd little daughter.

Dad was anxious about this friendship with a family which included a handsome grown-up son among its members; a trifle afraid lest she should be spirited away to another home before he had enjoyed his own innings.

"Poor old darling!" murmured Sylvia remorsefully, for at the bottom of her heart she knew well which home she would choose if the choice were given, and it did seem hard--horribly hard--that a parent should love and guard and work for his child from the hour of her birth, and that when she had grown old and sensible enough to be a companion instead of a care, she should immediately desert him for another! "But I could never love dad any less, never, never! I'd give anything in the world to see him again!" Sylvia cried mentally as she opened the envelope and straightened the thin, foreign sheets.

It was a long letter, and took a long time to read, and in the process Sylvia's expression changed once and again, and finally settled into one of incredulous dismay. It was not that the news was bad; on the contrary, it was good--very good indeed--the thing above all others which she would have wished to hear, but it threatened a complete uprooting of her life just as it was growing most interesting, and full of possibilities. Dad was coming home, was even now on his way, and had desired her to meet him on his arrival at Ma.r.s.eilles. It was incredible, quite incredible in its startling unexpectedness. She turned again to the wonderful paragraph, and read it over once more slowly and carefully.

"And now, my darling, I have a piece of news, which I hope and believe will be welcome to you. Certain business changes have taken place of late, which you would not understand even if I tried to explain them, but such as they are they set me free to return home at my own convenience. I have been impatiently waiting this settlement of affairs for some time back, as I have been most anxious to see you after your long illness, and to satisfy myself that the best means are being used to restore the full use of your foot.

"I have made inquiries here, and believe that a course of baths of the German Spa B--- would probably put the final touch to what has already been done. I propose, therefore, that you engage in good time a trustworthy lady courier from an office in London, and travel in her company to Ma.r.s.eilles, where I will meet you in the first week of June, having previously spent a week or ten days in Italy with my old friends the Nisbets, who return in the same boat.

"Come prepared for a summer abroad, and we can fit you up with any extras that are needed before we start on our travels. After you have finished your course of treatment and are, I trust, thoroughly convalescent, we will have a tour through Switzerland, and settle down at some mountain hotel, where the air will brace us up after our sufferings, climatic and otherwise.

"For the future, I have as yet no definite plans, except that, of course, you will not return to your present quarters. Perhaps we may eventually find a house that suits us in the south of England, but I can't face English winters after my long residence in this sunny land, and you must make up your mind to humour a restless old Anglo-Indian for the next few years to come. Perhaps by that time I may have regained my old strength and nerve, which have sadly failed of late.

I will wire from Brindisi as to definite arrangements."

Sylvia let the letter drop on her lap, and stared before her with blank eyes. Through the curtains could be seen a glimpse of the house opposite, the blind at Bridgie's window drawn up at its usual rakish angle.

In three weeks, in less than three weeks, she would say good-bye for ever to Rutland Road and its inhabitants; good-bye to England itself, it appeared, for at least a year to come, and at two-and-twenty a year is as long as a lifetime, if it divides us from those we love. She would drift away out of sight, and the last six months would become but an episode in her own life and those of her friends.

"D'ye remember Sylvia,--the girl with the bark on the road?" In imagination she could hear Pixie putting the question in the years to come, and Bridgie would remember quite well, because she had not the faculty of forgetting, but other people--other people were reputedly fickle, and tempted to forget old friends in favour of new! Other people would probably be in love with a fair-haired beauty by that time, and have forgotten all about Sylvia Trevor!

The pain which shot through the girl's heart at these reflections was so sharp that it startled her into a realisation of her own position. Dad was coming home, she was going to live with him once more, and instead of being happy and elated she was miserable--miserable! She was going to leave her aunt's home, with the restrictions and lack of sympathy which had made it so trying, and was once more to live with the fondest and most indulgent of parents, and instead of filling her with delight the news seemed like a sentence of banishment from all that made life worth living!

To do Sylvia justice she was shocked at her own thoughts, and made a valiant effort to look at the prospect in a more dutiful spirit. At least, she determined, no one should suspect a want of loyalty to that best and kindest of men! Aunt Margaret would take for granted that she felt nothing but delight, and she would postpone breaking the news to Bridgie until she had grown accustomed to the idea of separation, and could discuss it with composure.

It would be easier than usual to keep this resolve, for since Esmeralda's arrival the neighbours necessarily saw less of each other than in the long winter days when there had been no rival claims on their time and attention. Aunt Margaret would be pleased to find that she was chosen as counsellor and adviser-in-chief, and during the short time which was left she must do her utmost to gratify the old lady, who had been on the whole very kind and forbearing during the two years which they had spent together.

"I wish I had been nicer to her!" sighed Sylvia regretfully. "I was always meaning to be, but now it's too late. That's the worst of putting off things in this world; the chance may never come again!"

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

A whole week pa.s.sed by before Sylvia had an opportunity of telling her great news to her friend. To begin with, Bridgie was absent from home for three days and nights, attending a ball and a water-party given by Esmeralda for the entertainment of her house-party, and to neither of which Sylvia had received an invitation. To be sure, it was no use going to a dance when dancing was an impossibility, and the getting in and out of boats would have been painful and difficult, but all the same Sylvia felt slighted and out in the cold, and, though absent in the flesh, mentally followed every stage in the two entertainments, and tortured herself by imagining Jack's light-hearted enjoyment and absorption in other company than her own.

When Bridgie returned home, Miss Munns insisted on several expeditions to town, and also to surrounding suburbs, where lived those family connections to whom it was clearly the girl's duty to say good-bye. The old lady was quite inclined to enjoy the little stir of preparation involved by the trip abroad, and would allow no one but herself to interview the lady in whose charge her niece was to travel. That she was entirely satisfied was the best possible guarantee for Sylvia's safety, and Mistress Courier Rickman promised to be ready to start the moment the expected wire was received.

Miss Munns laid in a store of patent medicines, stocked her niece's workbox with every imaginable useful, and waxed quite affectionate in her manner, but all the same it was easy to see that she would be relieved to get rid of her charge, and settle down once more in the old groove. It requires a great deal of forbearance and unselfish imagination to enable a young person and an old to live together happily, and the lack of these qualities is the explanation of many miserable homes.

Old people should remember that the peaceful monotony which has become their own idea of happiness, must by the laws of nature spell a very different word to buoyant, restless youth, and also that there comes a stage when the children are not children any longer, when they are ent.i.tled to their own opinions, and may even--most reverently be it said--understand what is best for themselves, better than those of a different generation; and the young people in their turn should remember the long years of tender care and devotion which they have received, and be infinitely patient in their turn. They, who are so impatient of pa.s.sing ailments, should try to imagine how it would feel to be always feeble, and to see in the future the certainty of growing more and more suffering and incapable. They should realise that it is in their power to make the sunshine of declining days, and thereby to store up for themselves a lasting joy, instead of a reproach.

In looking back upon those two years spent in Rutland Road, Sylvia forgot her aunt's lack of sympathy, her prosy talk, and repeated fault- finding; they were lost in remembering the true kindness of heart which lay beneath all mannerism. What she was never able to forget was her own impatience and neglect of opportunity.

Once or twice as the days pa.s.sed by, Bridgie O'Shaughnessy ran to the gate to intercept her friend as she pa.s.sed, and exchange a hurried greeting, but Sylvia would not trust her great news to such occasions as these. She waited until an opportunity arose for an uninterrupted talk, and as she waited a desire awoke and grew in intensity, to herself tell Jack of the coming separation. Bridgie must, of course, be informed of the journey to France and Germany, but she would wait until the evening of Esmeralda's reception before disclosing the full extent of her travels.

When she and Jack were sitting together in one of the charming little niches in which the rooms abounded, he would naturally begin to talk of her journey, and she would smile and look unconcerned, and, in the most cheerful and natural of tones, announce that she was not coming back to Rutland Road, that it would probably be a year at least before she saw England again.

Surely when he heard this for the first time, when it was burst upon him as an utter surprise, she would read in his face whether she had been right in imagining that he really "cared," or if it had been a delusion born of girlish vanity. She would be quite calm and serene, would not in any way pose as a martyr or seem to expect any expression of distress, but she could not--could not bring herself to go away without making this one innocent little effort to solve the mystery which meant so much to her happiness and peace of mind.

So Sylvia purposely kept out of Bridgie's way during the ten days after the receipt of her letter, and when they met it was easy to tell just what she chose, and keep silent about the rest, for Bridgie was not one of the curious among womenkind, and never dreamt of questioning and cross-questioning as to the plans of another. She simply took for granted that Sylvia would return to her old quarters, after a pleasant summer holiday, just as she was happily a.s.sured that her friend felt nothing but purest joy and satisfaction in the prospect before her.

"Oh, me darling," she cried rapturously, "I am delighted for you! Isn't that the very best news that could happen? So soon, too, and a lovely jaunt together in the beautiful summer weather. 'Twill make you strong again in no time, and you will write me long letters telling me all your adventures, and 'twill be almost as good as having them myself. I couldn't tell you when I've been so pleased!"

"Humph!" said Sylvia disconsolately. Would Jack be delighted also, and hail her departure with rapturous congratulations? "Won't you miss me?

Won't you feel lonely when I'm not here?" she questioned earnestly, and Bridgie smiled a cheery rea.s.surement.

"I'll have Esmeralda, you see! She will be here until the end of the season, and then we are going up to Scotland with her. We shall be so busy and taken up with one thing and another that I shan't have time to miss you, darling."

"Humph!" said Sylvia once more. This was intended for comfort, she was aware, but it was not the kind of comfort that was required. Bridgie O'Shaughnessy might be so unselfish as to rejoice because a friend did not suffer by her absence, but Sylvia longed to hear that she was indispensable, and that nothing and no one could fill her place. It was another bitter drop in her cup to realise that the O'Shaughnessy girls were so closely united that any friend must needs be at a discount in comparison with a sister.

"Ye don't seem as excited as I should have expected. Is anything worrying you, dear?" Bridgie inquired, and Sylvia hurriedly searched for a plausible excuse and found it in her father's health.

In reality she was not disquieted by his reference to his own weakness, for he had been complaining for months back without apparently growing worse, and she was convinced that the coming rest would speedily restore him to health. It made an excuse, however, and Bridgie sympathised and offered a dozen kindly, unpractical suggestions as her custom was.

Then the conversation drifted to the all-important reception which was so close at hand, and to which both girls were looking forward with such expectation. Bridgie related the latest arrangements for the entertainment of some three hundred guests, while her friend listened with eager attention. Esmeralda was sparing neither money nor pains to make the evening one of the events of the season. Singers and musicians whose names were known throughout Europe were to perform at intervals in the great drawing-room; the hall and staircase were to be transformed into a bower of roses, pink La France roses here, there, and everywhere, wreathed round the banisters, ma.s.sed on the window-sills and mantelpieces, hanging in great golden baskets from the ceiling. Rose- coloured shades were to soften the glare of the electric lights; the air was to be kept cool by great blocks of ice, and scented fountains rising from banks of moss and ferns; the conservatory was to be illuminated by jewelled lanterns.