peril, but she was
incapable of being patient during one long rainy afternoon, when
confinement in the house had aroused into full play those mischievous
instincts characteristic of healthy and spirited youngsters; and if any
one imagines that the two statements contradict each other, he has yet
to learn that heroic heights of effort are easier of accomplishment than
a steady jog-trot along a dull high-road.

Joan Hilliard's reflections on the coming of her younger sister were
significant of her mental attitude. "Pixie's no trouble. She's such an
easy soul. She fits into corners and fills in the gaps. She'll amuse
the boys. It will keep them in good humour to have her to invent new
games. She'll keep Geoff company at breakfast when I'm tired. I'll get
some of the duty visits over while she's here. She'll talk to the
bores, and be so pleased at the sound of her own voice that she'll never
notice they don't answer. And she'll cheer me up when _I'm_ bored.
And, of course, I'll take her about--"

Pixie's amusement, it will be noticed, was but a secondary consideration
to Joan's own ease and comfort; for though it may be a very enjoyable
experience to be a society beauty and exchange poverty for riches, no
one will be brave enough to maintain that such an experience is
conducive to the growth of spiritual qualities. Sweet-hearted Bridgie
might possibly have come unscathed through the ordeal, but Esmeralda was
made of a different clay.

Pixie started alone on the three hours' journey, for the Victor
household possessed no maid who could be spared, and husband and wife
were both tied by home duties; moreover, being a modern young woman, she
felt perfectly competent to look after herself, and looked forward to
the experience with pleasure rather than dread. Bridgie was inclined to
be tearful at parting, and Pixie's artistic sense prompted a similar
display, but she found herself simply incapable of forcing a tear.

"It's worse for you than for me," she confessed candidly, "for you've
nothing to do, poor creature! But go home to cold mutton and darning,
while I'm off to novelty and adventure. That's why the guests sometimes
cry at a wedding, out of pity for themselves, because they can't go off
on a honeymoon with a trousseau and an adoring groom. They pretend it's
sympathetic emotion, but it isn't; it's nothing in the world but selfish
regret. ... Don't cry, darling; it makes me feel so mean. Think of the
lo