eemed to take a
fresh lease of life, and stab her with the memory of dead hopes.

It was not that she envied Esmeralda her happiness--Bridgie had none of
the dog in the manger in her composition--but she felt suddenly
oppressed by loneliness and a sense of want, which the quiet home-life
failed to satisfy. Once she had imagined that this happiness would be
hers in the future, but that hope was dead, and it did not seem possible
that it could ever come to life again. Even if by chance she met Dick
Victor in the future, what explanation could he have to offer which
would wipe away the reproach of that long silence? Bridgie hoped they
might never meet; it would be too painful to see her idol dethroned from
his pedestal.

"Are they worth a penny, dear? I've asked you the same question twice
over!" cried Esmeralda mischievously, and Bridgie came back to the
present with a shock of remembrance.

"I was wool-gathering again. So sorry! What did you want to know?"

"I was talking about our invitations. Do you want any cards for
friends? Is there anyone whom you would like me to ask?"

"Lottie Vane, please, and Mr and Mrs Wallace," cried Pixie eagerly,
and Esmeralda smiled at the first name, and frowned at the second. She
remembered having seen the Vanes at a school festival, and being
favourably impressed by their appearance, but the name of Wallace was
still repugnant to her ears, and could not be heard unmoved.

She did not care, however, to appear ungracious in Geoffrey's presence,
and reflected that it might be judicious to impress Pixie's employers
with the grandeur of the O'Shaughnessy family, and thus nip in the bud
any ideas of patronage. A moment later she was thankful that she had
made no objections, as Sylvia Trevor's name from Bridgie's lips
convinced her that here at least a stand must be made.

"Oh, my dear, it is no use asking Miss Trevor. She is lame, and I shall
have enough to do without looking after invalids."

"She would come with us, and we would take care of her. The boys are so
fond of Sylvia. They'd think it a pleasure!" pleaded innocent Bridgie,
all unconscious of the fatal nature of her argument, and Esmeralda
frowned again and said impatiently--

"She'd much better stay at home. Crowded rooms are no place for people
who need such care."

"No, but that is all the more reason why she should get what enjoyment
she can. She would love one of the receptions you spoke of, when you