card. Emotional Pixie had the softness of
tears in her own eyes as Stephen rejoined her, and they walked away
together down the long room.

"Well," he said smiling, "on your head be it! Now she'll go on painting
atrocities, and wasting good time, when she might be sweeping a floor!
It's against my principles to encourage the desecration of art."

"Why did you do it then?" Pixie demanded heartlessly, but next moment
she smiled a beautiful smile. "_I know_! Thank you! Never mind about
desecration. Art can look after itself, and _she_ can't! And even if
that particular picture isn't beautiful, you have given me another that
is, the picture of her happy face! I think," she concluded slowly,
"it's going to help me.--It will be a contrast to turn, to, when I
see--_that other_!" She sighed, as she invariably did, when referring
to those moments on the Liverpool landing-stage, but she shook off the
depression with a characteristic gesture, a defiant little shake not
only of the head, but of the whole body, and cried briskly: "Now let's
imagine what she does when she goes home with that cheque!"

At home in the little flat, music made part of every day's programme.
Pixie, seated on the hearthrug, would sing Irish ballads in a voice of
crooning sweetness, she and Pat would join in duets, occasionally
Stephen was persuaded to join in a trio, and presently, as the
performers became "worked up" to their task, they would recall one by
one performances of bygone days, and perform them afresh for the
delectation of their visitor. Pixie whistled a bird-like accompaniment
to Pat's deep drone; Pat, retiring bashfully beneath a sheet, whistled
in his turn not only an air, but actually at the same time an
accompaniment thereto, a soprano and contralto combination of sounds, so
marvellous to hear that he was compelled to repeat the performance
unmasked, before Stephen would believe in its authenticity. Fired by
the success of their efforts, combs were then produced, and, swathed in
paper, turned into wind instruments of wondrous amenability. Surprising
effect of a duet upon combs! Again, when towards the end of the week
the repertoire gave out, and "What shall we sing next?" to fail of an
answer, Pixie revived another old "Knock" accomplishment, which was
neither more nor less than impromptu recitatives and choruses. A bass
recitative by Pat, on the theme--"_And she went--to find some mat-ches.
And there--were--none... Tum-