thy
the name of scoundrel. She dived into the past, and pictured the
feelings of those past and gone; she projected herself into the future,
and bequeathed a Corsican legacy of revenge. She lavished blame on
Joan, Geoffrey, herself, Jack and Sylvia, Pat and Miles, even the
beloved Dick himself, and refused to hear a word in Honor's defence.
The only person who came unscathed through the ordeal was Stephen Glynn,
whom, it would appear, had absorbed in himself the wisdom which every
one else had so shamefully lacked.

When Bridgie ended Pat began. The news had had an unexpected effect, in
rousing the invalid and restoring him to a feeling of health more
powerfully than a hundred tonics could have done. For the first time
for weeks past he forgot himself and his woes, and behold a new man,
with a strength and vitality astounding to witness. Pat announced his
intention of sallying forth and thrashing the beggar forthwith; he dealt
bitterly with the squeamishness of the English law with regard to duels,
declared in the same breath that he could never have believed in the
possibility of such behaviour, and that he had prophesied it from the
first. He adjured Pixie repeatedly, and with unction, to "Buck up!" and
when the poor girl protested valiantly that she _was_ bucking,
immediately adjured her to be honest, for pity's sake, and "let herself
go!"

An ordinary person would have found such a form of comfort far from
soothing, but Pixie was an O'Shaughnessy herself, and it _did_ soothe
her. She understood that Bridgie and Pat were relieving themselves by
saying all that they felt, _more_ than they felt, and that presently the
storm would pass and the sun shine again. By to-morrow all bitterness
would have passed. She sat in her chair and submitted meekly to be
lectured and cajoled, wrapped in a shawl, provided with a footstool,
ordered to bed, supplied with smelling-salts, and even--tentatively--
with sal-volatile, but she made no attempt to still the storm. She knew
that it would be useless!

Finally Pat stumped off to his bedroom, to draft a rough copy of a
letter intended to be the most scathing communication which had ever
passed through the post; and Bridgie, very white and shaken, seated
herself on a chair by her sister's side.

"Pixie, dear--I'm afraid we've not been helpful. ... I lost my head,
but it was such a shock.--I flew into a passion without hearing what you
had to say for yourself. ... Darling