"All right, Pat," he said. "I'll come as usual, and if it's
inconvenient you can turn me out; and if Miss O'Shaughnessy will accept
me for an escort I'll be proud to take her about. We'll begin with the
Abbey to-morrow."

"That's all right; I thought you would. What's the good of a
prospective uncle if he can't make himself useful!"

It was the first time Pat had made any reference to Stanor Vaughan, for,
like the rest of the family, his pride had been stung by the
non-appearance of Pixie's love, at the expiration of the prescribed two
years. Pat knew that occasional letters passed between the young
couple, and that the understanding between them appeared unbroken, but
it was a poor sort of lover who would voluntarily add to the term of his
exile. During the four days which Pixie had spent in the flat, almost
every subject under the sun had been discussed but the one which
presumably lay nearest the girl's heart, and that had been consistently
shunned. It was only a desire to justify a claim on his friend's
services which had driven Pat to refer to the subject now, and he
sincerely wished he had remained silent as he noted the effect of his
words. Stephen and Pixie stared steadily into space. Neither spoke,
neither smiled; their fixed, blank eyes appeared to give the impression
that they had not heard his words. In another moment the silence would
have become embarrassing had not Pixie rung the bell and given an order
for tea.

"Is this your first experience of living in a flat, Miss O'Shaughnessy?
How do you like it, as far as you've got?" Stephen asked, with a
valiant resolve to second Pixie's efforts, and she turned her face
towards him, slightly flushed, but frank and candid as ever.

"I love it--it's so social! You know everyone's business as well as
your own. The floors are _supposed_ to be sound-proof, but really
they're so many sounding-boards. The couple above had a quarrel last
night--at the high points we could hear every word. It was as good as a
theatre, though, of course--" she lengthened her face with a pretence of
gravity--"'twas very sad! But they've made it up to-day, because she's
singing. She has one song that she sings a dozen times every day ...
something about parting from a lover. Pat says she's been at it for
months past--`_Since_ we parted _yester_ eve.' ... She feels it, poor
creature! I suggested to Pat that we might board him, so that he might
always be on the spot,