More about Pixie | Page 7

is very handsome, Whitey. I don't dislike him as much as I expected.
Oh dear, they look disgustingly happy! I am sure they don't want me a
bit, and I want them dreadfully. He doesn't seem the sort of man to coin
false money, does he? Do please casually remark to Aunt Margaret
how very nice and distinguished they look! It's my one object in life at
present to make her call upon them."
The next day the situation developed still further, for a form was seen
seated at a window, who must, of course, be Edwin; yet he looked
strangely younger and fairer in colouring. Nurse and patient debated the
point hotly, until presently the door opened and out came one, two,

three masculine creatures, all as like as peas in a pod, except for the
difference in years which divided Edwin from the handsome striplings
on either side. They stood together in the tiny garden, obviously
waiting for the mistress of the house, and when she did not appear, the
youngest of the three picked up pieces of gravel and threw them up at a
bedroom window, while the others whistled and beat upon the gate
with their sticks.
Angelina strolled to the window in response to these demonstrations,
and stood smiling at them while she fastened on her hat, but she did not
appear to hurry herself in the least, nor did the brothers show any signs
of annoyance at their long waiting. When at long last she made her
appearance, there was great manoeuvring to get a place by her side, and
away they trotted, four abreast, pushing everyone else off the pavement,
but apparently blissfully unconscious of anything unusual in the
proceeding.
Sylvia and Whitey watched until the last flutter of the black dress
disappeared from sight, then fell to work to settle the identity of the
new actors in the drama.
"They are brothers--there is no doubt about that; but they can't live
there, Whitey! That wouldn't be at all newly-married. Do you suppose
they are here for the day? Perhaps they are in rooms in town, and
Angelina lets them come down over Sundays sometimes as a treat.
They seem very fond of her, and quite at home. I think that is the most
likely explanation, don't you?"
"I really think it is. Or they might live in the country and have come up
to pay a visit and see the sights," said Whitey thoughtfully.
She was thankful to find a subject of interest in these long days of
convalescence to keep her patient's mind from dwelling on depressing
topics. Truth to tell, Sylvia was not getting well so quickly as had been
expected, and besides more serious drawbacks there were minor
troubles, trying enough to the girlish mind. She had to learn to walk
again, like a baby, her back ached so badly that if she tried to stoop she
screamed aloud with pain, and, worse than all, the plaits of hair grew

small and beautifully less, until there was hardly anything left to plait.
Sylvia had been proud of her hair, so she grew alarmed, and finally sent
off in haste for her special barber to give advice and consolation in the
difficulty. Consolation was not forthcoming, however, and the advice
offered was by no means acceptable.
"You can't do nothing--there's nothing will be a bit of good," the man
said dolefully. "Whatever you do, it's bound to come. The wisest thing
would be to be shaved at once, and give it a start."
Sylvia fairly screamed with horror and consternation.
"Shaved!" she cried. "I? I go about with a bald head--a horrible, bare,
shiny scalp! I'd rather die! I'd rather--I'd rather--I'd rather anything in
the world! It's no use talking to me, Whitey; I will--not-- be shaved!"
"Very well, dear," assented Whitey easily. "Then you shan't. We will
just have a few inches cut off, and get a lotion to rub in to help the
growth. I daresay the old hair will keep on until the new appears, and
then you need never have the horrible experience of seeing a bald
head."
"I never should see it in any case. I'd buy a wig and wear it night and
day. Nothing would induce me to look in the glass when it was off. I
should never respect myself again. And oh, Whitey, even at the best the
new hair will be ages growing, and it will be impossible to do anything
with it!"
"Not at all. You can wear it short and curly. It would look very pretty,
and suit you so well."
Whitey was aggressively cheerful, but Sylvia refused to be comforted.
"It would be hateful. I don't know anything more dejected-looking than
to see the back of a shorn head