More about Pixie | Page 9

badly?"
"I wanted you too!" said the girl quickly. She had a delightful voice;
soft, and deep, and musical in tone, and she was prettier than ever, seen
close at hand. Best of all, she was not a bit shy, but as frank and
outspoken as if they had been friends of years' standing. "Your aunt
called on me this afternoon," she went on, coming nearer the bed, and
sitting down on the chair which nurse placed for her. "She invited me to
come to see you some day, but I've a dislike to waiting, if there's a good
thing in prospect, so I asked if I might come at once, and here I am! I'm
so glad you wanted to see me. I have watched you from my window,
ever since you first sat up in your pretty red jacket."
"And you looked up and smiled at me! I have watched you too, and
wanted to know you so badly. I've been ill for months, it seems like
years, and was so surprised to see that your house was taken. You can't
think how strange it is to creep back to life, and see how everything has
gone on while you have lain still. It's conceited, of course, to expect a
revolution of nature, just because you are out of things yourself, but I
didn't seem able to help it."
"I'm like that myself!" said the pretty girl pleasantly. There was a soft
gurgle in her voice as of laughter barely repressed, and she pronounced
her i's with a faint broadening of accent, which was altogether quaint
and delightful.
Sylvia mentally repeated the phrase as it sounded in her ears, "Oi'm like
that meself!" and came to an instant conclusion. "Irish! She's Irish. I'm
glad of that. I like Irish people." She smiled for pure pleasure, and the
visitor stretched out a hand impulsively, and grasped the thin fingers
lying on the counterpane.
"You poor creature, I'm grieved for you! Tell me, is your name
Beatrice? I'm dying to know, for we had a discussion about it at home,
and I said I was sure it was Beatrice. I always imagine a Beatrice dark
like you, with brown eyes and arched eyebrows."

"I don't! The only Beatrice I know is quite fair and fluffy. No, I am not
Beatrice!"
"But you are not Helen! I do hope you are not Helen. The boys guessed
that, and they would be so triumphant if they were right."
"No, I'm not Helen either. I'm Sylvia Trevor."
"'Deed, you are, then! It's an elegant name. I never knew anyone living
by it before, and it suits you, too. I like it immensely. Did you,"--the
grey eyes twinkled merrily--"did you find a nickname for me?"
Sylvia glanced at Whitey and smiled demurely.
"We called you Angelina. Oh, we didn't think that was really your
name, but we called you by it because you looked so happy and er--er
affectionate, and pleased with everything. And we called your husband
Edwin, to match. Those are the proper names for newly-married
couples, you know."
The girl stared back with wide grey eyes, her chin dropped, and she sat
suddenly bolt upright in her chair.
"My what?" she gasped. "My h--" She put her hands against her cheeks,
which had grown quite pink, and gurgled into the merriest, most
infectious laughter. "But I'm not married at all! It's my brother. He is
not Edwin, he is Jack, and I'm Bridgie--Bridget O'Shaughnessy, just a
bit of a girl like yourself, and not even engaged."
Sylvia sank back in the bed with a great sigh of thanksgiving.
"What a relief! I was so jealous of that husband, for I wanted you for
myself, and if you had been married you would have been too
settled-down and domestic to care for me. I do hope we shall be friends.
I'm an only child, and my father is abroad, and I pine to know someone
of my own age."
"I know; your aunt told me. We talked about you all the time, for I had

been so interested and sorry about your illness, that I had no end of
questions to ask. What a dear old lady she is! I envy you having her to
live with. I always think one misses so much if there is no old person in
the house to help with advice and example!"
The invalid moved restlessly on her pillows, and cast a curious glance
at her companion. The grey eyes were clear and honest, the sweet lips
showed not the shadow of a smile; it was transparently apparent that
she was in earnest.
Sylvia felt a pang of apprehension lest her new friend was about to turn
out "proper," that acme of undesirable qualities to the girlish