hing before now. Girls nowadays don't seem happy unless they have
some work--"

"But I _have_, I have! Did you think I was idle?" She looked at him
with reproachful eyes. "This is a holiday. I'm sampling luxury for a
change, and I won't deny it's agreeable, but at home all the year I'm at
work from morning to night. I don't know how to get _through_ my work."

So she had a profession then, after all! Stanor felt an amused
conviction that whatever the post might be the little thing would fill
it uncommonly well. Small and child-like as she appeared, she yet
carried with her that air of assurance which is the heritage of the
capable. It interested him to consider for a moment what particular
role she had adopted, and more than one possibility had passed through
his head before he put the question into words--

"And what exactly _do_ you do, Miss Pixie?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Now, if you'd asked me to say what I do _not_ do, it would have been
easier. Have you any sort of idea what it means to keep a home going
with big ideas and little means, and a cook-general to thwart your
efforts? If you have, you can imagine the list. Dusting, sewing,
mending, turning, making, _un_-making, helping Bridgie, amusing the
children, soothing the servants, humouring Dick, making dresses,
trimming hats, covering cushions, teaching the alphabet, practising
songs, arranging flowers, watering plants, going to shops, making up
parcels, writing notes, making--"

Stanor held up his hands in protest.

"Stop! Have pity on me! What an appalling list! Isn't it nearly done?
My ears are deafened! I am overcome with the thought of such
activity!" Nevertheless the smile with which he regarded her was
distinctly approving, for, like most men, he preferred domestic women
who did not despise home work. "I'll tell you what it is," he added
warmly, "Mrs Victor is like the other fellow--jolly lucky to have you!
There are precious few girls who would give up their whole lives to a
sister."

"Bridgie is more than a sister. She's meant father and mother and home
to me for over ten years. My parents died when I was so young."

"Like mine. That's a point of union between us. My uncle has played
the part of your Bridgie."

"He has; I know it. He's lame," answered Pixie swiftly, and was amazed
at the heat with which the young fellow replied--

"Lame? Who said so? Who told you? What does it matter if he _is_
lame?"

"N