better go. Bridgie, my sister--Mrs Victor--is here.
I would rather you didn't see her. She will be angry; they will all be
angry. They are fond of me, you see; and they will think I have been
humiliated. I am _not_ humiliated! No one can humiliate me but myself;
but just at first they won't be reasonable. ... Will you please go?"

"Pixie, don't think about me ... think of yourself! I will leave it to
you to tell your own story.--I have asked you to marry me, and you have
refused. ... Tell them that ... tell them that _you_ refused, that it
was _your_ doing, not mine--"

The glance of the grey eyes gave him a hot tingling of shame.

"You don't understand," said Pixie softly. "I am _proud_ of being the
faithful one! You don't understand..." She laid her hand on the door,
but Stanor stopped her with another question--

"And--Honor? What shall I say to Honor? She thinks so much of you.
She'll do nothing without your consent. Some day when she comes to
London ... will you ... see her, Pixie?"

Pixie shook her head.

"It would hurt us both, and do no good. Give her my love. As for you--
I can't give her what is not mine. ... You belong to _her_, so there's
nothing more to be said. ... I hope you will make her happy."

"I will--I will! At this moment I seem to you an unmitigated scoundrel,
but things will be different. ... We shall settle in America. I will
help her with her work. We'll work together. I'd give my life for her
... I _will_ give it! I'll make amends..." He stood still, waiting as
if there were still more to be said. "My uncle will be angry, but it is
his doing. If it had not been for him, we should have been married
years ago. He shouldn't blame me for what he has brought about. His is
the blame. If I see him--_when_ I see him--can I say anything from
you?"

"Tell him," said Pixie clearly, "that I am grateful to him. _His is the
praise_!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

HONOR'S LETTER.

Bridgie _was_ angry. It was rarely indeed that her placid nature was
roused to wrath, but she did the thing thoroughly when she was about it.
In a flow of eloquence, worthy of Esmeralda herself, she revived
incidents in Pixie's life, dating from babyhood onwards, to prove to the
chairs and tables, and any odd pieces of furniture which might happen to
be listening, the blameless and beautiful character of the maid who had
even been spurned ("spurned" was the word used) by a recreant unwor