coming to
an end.

Pixie silent; Pixie dignified; Pixie quietly but unmistakably holding
her sister and guardian at arm's length, this was an experience
petrifying in its unexpectedness! She had not spoken on the impulse of
a moment; for days past she had been nerving herself to open Pixie's
eyes. At the bottom of her heart had lain a dawning hope that such an
opening might not be in vain, for Pixie had never really loved Stanor
Vaughan. At the time of their engagement she had not even understood
what love meant; during the years of their separation there had been
nothing but an occasional letter to preserve his image in her mind, and
when the allotted two years were over, Stanor himself had voluntarily
extended his exile. Bridgie set her lips as she recalled a fact so
hurtful to her sister's dignity. She heard again Pat's voice, echoing
the sentiments of her own heart. "Tell her, Bridgie! She ought to
know. He's worth a thousand of that other fellow. Don't let her throw
away the substance for the shadow."

So she had spoken, and a new Pixie--a Pixie she had never even imagined
in dreams--had listened, and made her reply. "I am honoured!" she had
said, and straightway, sweetly, courteously, irrevocably, had closed the
subject.

Bridgie bent her head and plaited her hair in the two long ropes which
made her nightly coiffure. She was thankful of the employment, thankful
of an excuse to hide her face; she listened to the ticking of the clock
upon the mantelpiece and asked herself what she should do next. The
incredible had come to pass, and she, Bridgie, sister, guardian, married
woman, mother of a family, was nervous in Pixie's presence! Not for any
bribe that could have been offered would she have ventured to hint at
that hope which she and Pat had shared in common.

Suddenly through the little flat rang the sound of the postman's knock.
The last of the many deliveries of the day had arrived, and Bridgie
peeping out of the door spied a couple of white envelopes prone on the
mat. She crept out to get them, thankful of the diversion, and was
overjoyed to behold on one her husband's writing.

"One for me, Pixie, and one for you--an enclosure forwarded from home.
I'm so glad to get mine. It's nice for the postmen in London to have
Sundays free, but we country people _do_ miss letters," she said glibly,
as she handed Pixie her share of the spoil, and seated herself in the
one comfortable chair which the r