; Felicia, the youngest, is the image of myself; yet they've
been mistaken for each other times and again. It's a turn of the
chin.--Is she married?"

"Who? Bridgie--my sister? Oh yes--very much. Six years."

"Dear me! She looks so young! My May is twenty-seven. She has had her
chances, of course. Any children?"

"Wh--" Pixie's mind again struggled after the connection. "Oh, two--a
boy and a girl. They are called," she added, with a benevolent
consciousness of sparing further effort, "Patrick and Patricia."

"Irish, evidently," the large lady decided shrewdly. "Rather awkward,
isn't it, about pet names, and laundry marks, and so forth? However.
... And so you've been paying her a visit, I suppose, and are returning
to your home?"

"One of my homes," corrected Pixie happily. "I have three. Two sisters
and one brother. And they all like to have me. My parents are dead."
Her tone showed that the loss referred to was of many years' standing;
nevertheless, the stout lady hurriedly changed the conversation, as
though fearful of painful reminiscences.

"I have been having a morning's shopping. We live _quite_ in the
country, and I come to town every time I need a new gown. I have been
arranging for one this morning, for a wedding. So difficult, when one
has no ideas! I chose purple."

Pixie cocked her head on one side and thoughtfully pursed her lips.

"Very nice! Yes, purple's so--_portly_!" She surprised a puckering of
the large lady's face, and hastened to supplement the description.
"Portly, and--er--regal, and _duchessy_, don't you think? I met a
duchess once--she was rather like you--and _she_ wore purple!"

The large lady expanded in a genial warmth. Her lips opened in a
breathless question--

"How was the bodice made?"

Pixie reflected deeply.

"I can't exactly _say_! But it was years ago. It would be quite
_demode_. For a wedding, of course, you must be up to date. Weddings
make a fuss for months, and are so _soon_ over--I mean for the guests.
They are not _much_ fun."

"Where did you meet the Duchess?"

"Oh, at my sister's--the one I am going to now. In her town house, at a
reception one afternoon. She had a purple dress with lace, and a Queen
Victoria sort of bonnet with strings, and little white feathers sticking
up in the front; and she had a--" Pixie smiled into space with
reminiscent enjoyment--"_beautiful_ sense of humour!"

The large lady looked deeply impresse