and
significant sign!--partook of a fragmentary tea. Nothing was right;
everything was wrong; his patience was exhausted, and though he remained
studiously polite to his friend, with his sister he unrestrainedly "let
himself go."

"Don't wriggle, Pixie! ... Don't shout!--Don't tell us that story all
over again. ... Don't lean against my bed. ... Don't sit between me
and the fire!" so on it went all through the afternoon, which as a rule
was so cheery and peaceful, and if Pixie preserved a placid composure,
Stephen Glynn was far from following her example. He relapsed into a
frigid silence, which added but another element to the general
discomfort.

The final stroke came when Pixie lifted the despised shawl and attempted
to wrap it round Pat's shoulders, and was rudely repulsed, and told to
mind her own business and not be a fool. Then, with his air of _grand
seigneur_, Stephen Glynn rose from his chair and made his adieux. Cold
as crystal was his manner as he extended his hand to the invalid on his
bed, and Pixie followed him on to the little landing, apologetic and
miserable.

"You are going so soon? If you could stay and talk hard it might divert
him from himself. He _needs_ diverting!"

"I cannot," Stephen declared. "It's beyond me. After all you have
done--after all your care, to speak to you so rudely!--"

He had passed through the front door of the flat, and Pixie stood within
the threshold, her hand clasping the handle of the door, her face, tired
and strained, raised to his own.

"He didn't!" she cried quickly. "Oh, he didn't. It wasn't Pat who
spoke--it was the pain, the pain, and the tiredness and the
disappointment. They force out the words. Haven't you found that
yourself? But his heart doesn't mean them. He's all raw and hurting,
and I worried him. ... I shouldn't have done it! You must be angry
with me, not with Pat."

Stephen gave her a long, strange look.

"I think I--" he began, and stopped short suddenly.

"What?" queried Pixie, and there was a long pause.

"I--don't know!" he answered dreamily then, and without a word of
farewell turned away and descended the steps.

But he did know. In the moment in which he had stood facing her while
she pled her brother's cause, the secret of his own heart was revealed.
Never under any circumstances could he be angry with Pixie
O'Shaughnessy. He loved her; she was for him the one woman in the
world; with all the stored-up love o