The Mammoth Cave of Kentucky! D'you remember the Major's old name? He
was _proud_ of your mouth. And you had no chin as a child. You ought
to be thankful, Pixie, that you've grown to a chin!"

"I am," cried Pixie with unction. "It would be awful to slope down into
your neck. All the same, me dear, if it was my eyes that were bigger,
and my mouth that was smaller, it would be better for all concerned."
She was silent for some moments, staring thoughtfully in the fire. From
time to time she frowned, and from time to time she smiled; Bridgie
divined that a thought was working, and lay back in her seat, amusedly
watching its development. "There's a place in Paris," continued Pixie
thoughtfully at last, "an institute sort of place, where they repair
noses! You sort of go in, and they look at you, and there are models
and drawings, and _you choose your nose_! The manager is an expert, and
if you choose a wrong style he advises, and says another would suit you
better. I'd love a Greek one myself; it's so _chic_ to float down
straight from the forehead, but I expect he'd advise a blend that
wouldn't look too _epatant_ with my other features.--It takes a
fortnight, and it doesn't hurt. Your nose is gelatine, not bone; and it
costs fifty pounds."

"Wicked waste!" cried Mrs Victor, with all the fervour of a matron
whose own nose is beyond reproach. "Fifty pounds on a nose! I never
heard of such foolish extravagance."

"Esmeralda paid eighty for a sealskin coat. A nose would last for life,
while if a single moth got inside the brown paper--whew!" Pixie waved
her hands with the Frenchiness of gesture which was the outcome of an
education abroad, and which made an amusing contrast with an Irish
accent, unusually pronounced. "I'd think nothing of running over to
Paris for a fortnight's jaunt, and having the nose thrown in. Fancy me
walking in on you all, before you'd well realised I was away, smart and
smiling with a profile like Clytie, or a sweet little acquiline, or a
neat and wavey one, like your own. You wouldn't know me!"

"I shouldn't!" said Bridgie eloquently.

"Now let's pretend!" Pixie hitched her chair nearer to the fire, and
placed her little feet on the fender with an air of intense enjoyment.
In truth, tea-time, and the opportunity which it gave of undisturbed
parleys with Bridgie, ranked as one of the great occasions of life.
Every day there seemed something fresh and exciting to discuss, and the