the end of two years, if you
are both of the same mind, I will give you every help in my power: but
meantime there must be no engagement, no _tie_, no regular
correspondence. You must both be perfectly free. I am sorry to appear
hard-hearted, but these are my conditions, and I can't see my way to
alter them."

"Well--why not?" cried Pixie unexpectedly. "What's two years? They'll
pass in no time. And men hate writing. Stanor will be relieved not to
have to bother about the mails. He can do without letters. He will
know that I am waiting." She held out her hand with a sudden, radiant
smile. "And _you_ will be pleased! It is the least we can do to
consider your wishes. If I persuade Stanor--if I send him away alone to
work," the small fingers tightened ingratiatingly over his, "you _will_
like me, won't you? You will think of me as a real niece?"

Stephen Glynn's deep blue eyes stared deeply into hers. He did not
deliberately intend to put his thoughts into speech; if he had given
himself a moment to think he would certainly not have done so, but so
strong was the mental conviction that the words seemed to form
themselves without his volition.

"You don't love him! You could not face a separation so easily if you
loved him as you should..."

For the first time a flash of real anger showed itself on Pixie's face.
Her features hardened; the child disappeared and he caught a glimpse of
the woman that was to be.

"What right have you to say that?" she asked deeply. "You prove to me
that it would be for Stanor's good to wait, and then say I cannot love
him because I agree! _You_ love him, yet you can hurt him and bring him
disappointment when you feel it is right. I understood that, so I was
not angry, but in return you might understand _me_!"

"Forgive me!" cried Stephen. "I should not have said it. You deserved
a better return for your kindness. I suppose I must seem very
illogical, but it did not occur to me that the two cases were on a
parallel. The love of a _fiancee_ is not as a rule as well balanced as
that of an uncle, Miss O'Shaughnessy!"

"It _ought_ to be," asserted Pixie. "It ought to be everything that
another love is, and more! A man's future wife ought to be the person
of all others to be reasonable, and unselfish, and logical where he is
concerned, even if it means separation for a _dozen_ years."

No answer. Stephen gazed blankly into space as if unconscious of her
words.

"