ome Pat.

Well, it was a happy holiday, but there was no sadness when it came to
an end, for Pat was ready and eager to get back to work, and Pixie to
the northern town which meant Bridgie and home. Brother and sister
parted with mutual protestations of gratitude and appreciation, and with
several quite substantial castles in the air as regards future meetings,
and within a few days both had settled down to the routine of ordinary
life.

"Pixie is just the same. All this business has not altered her at all,"
Captain Victor said to his wife, and Bridgie smiled at him, the same
sort of loving, indulgent smile which she bestowed on her small son when
he guilelessly betrayed his ignorance.

_She_ knew that Pixie _had_ altered, felt the alteration every day of
her life, in a subtle, indefinite manner which had escaped the masculine
observation. There was a certain expression which in quiet moments had
been wont to settle on the young face, an expression of repression and
strain, which now appeared to have departed for good, a certain reserve
in touching upon any subject connected with love and marriage, which was
now replaced by eager interest and sympathy. Gradually, also, as the
months rolled on there came moments when a very radiance of happiness
shone out of the grey eyes, and trilled in the musical voice. The time
of Stephen Glynn's visit was drawing near; another week, and he would
actually arrive. What would be the result of that visit? Bridgie could
not tell. In a matter so important she dared not take any definite
role, but in her prayers that week she implored the Divine Father to
send to the dearly loved little sister that which He in His wisdom knew
to be _best_.

And then, as usual, Pixie did the unexpected thing. The sisters were
sitting together at tea the day before Stephen was expected, when
suddenly she looked across the room, and said as quietly and naturally
as if she had been asking the time--

"Do ye think now, Bridgie, that he will ask me to marry him?"

Bridgie started. Up to her cheeks flew the red. It was she who was
embarrassed, she who stammered and crumbled the hem of the tablecloth.

"My dear, I don't know! How should I? How can I possibly know?"

"I didn't ask you if you knew. I asked if you _thought_."

"I--don't know what to think. ... I know what he _wants_! But he is so
sensitive, so humble about himself. He thinks he is too old, and ...
and his lameness--he exagg