f _deus ex machina_. It was coincidence, of
course, pure coincidence, for the old fellow had not known the girls
even by name, but it _was_ odd! As for his own part in the proceeding,
both girls had been unusually charming specimens of the modern society
girl, it was natural enough that he should have been impressed, but if
it was really the fact that he was falling in love with this Irish
Pixie, that was another, and a very different matter.

With a darting thought Stanor recalled his impressions on first meeting
the girl a week before, and his own outspoken surprise at the
insignificance of the sister of his beautiful hostess. A plain, odd
little creature, that had been the involuntary verdict, but almost
immediately it had been amended. Plain, but charming; distinctly the
little thing had charm! Now, at the expiration of six days it had come
to this, that his eyes no longer noted the faulty outline, but found a
continual joy in watching the play of expression, the vivid life and
interest of the sparkling little face. This was the real thing at last,
Stanor told himself: it must be the real thing! Mingled with all his
excitement and perturbation, he was conscious of a thrill of
self-appreciation. It was not every man of his age who would put beauty
of character before that of feature. He threw a deliberate
_empressement_ into his gaze, and said meaningly--

"Your husband, Miss Pixie, will be a lucky man!"

"He will so," agreed Pixie warmly. She gave a soft, musical laugh as if
the thought were a pleasant one to dwell on, but Stanor was sensitive
enough to realise that his own image played no part in her dreams. She
took up her pen and returned to the scribbling of prices on small paper
labels. "Russian lace, five shillings a yard. Russian lacquer
collar-box. Don't you hate that shiny red? Of course, when I talked of
fortunes I was only putting myself in her place. I've nothing. None of
us have. When My lover comes, there'll be only--_Me_!" The words
sounded modest enough, but there was a complacence in the tilt of the
head which told another story. Pixie O'Shaughnessy had no pity to waste
on the man who should win herself.

Stanor's lip twisted in a self-conscious smile. The other girls had
been rich. He pondered for a moment, and then said suddenly--

"I wonder, Miss Pixie, with your temperament, and--er--under the
circumstances that you have not been fired with the modern craze to do
somet