tains.

Even the servants had been remembered, for there was a bulky parcel
addressed to each name, and Sylvia grew red with mingled pleasure and
embarrassment as a casket of French bon-bons was deposited on her knee.
It was a delightful scene, and not the least delightful part of it was
the enjoyment of the young couple themselves, and their whole-hearted
participation in the pleasure of the recipients.

It is the custom of most donors to depreciate their gifts, but that was
not Esmeralda's way. Not a bit of it! She was a capital show-woman,
and if by chance any detail of perfection passed unnoticed, she pointed
it out forthwith, and dilated at length upon its virtues. Jack turned
over the silver-topped bottles, and peeped at his reflection in the
mirror; Miles tingled his bicycle-bell, and balanced himself on the
saddle; Sylvia handed round bon-bons and surreptitiously fumbled to
discover how many rows the box contained; and Pat demanded immediate
orders for family groups. It took some little time to restore order,
but Geoffrey stood patiently waiting until he could make himself heard,
his hand stretched out to uncover the curtained frame.

"Now for the general present! With best wishes to the family circle,
from Joan and myself. Are you ready? Very well, then, here you are!
One, two, three!"

With the last word he whisked off the cloth, and a gasp sounded through
the room, followed by a silence more eloquent than words.

Sylvia stared with widened eyes at the picture of a girl's head,
strangely like and yet unlike that precious photograph which Bridgie had
exhibited with so much pride. It was Pixie--that was quite evident--but
an older, bigger, wonderfully smartened edition of the elf-like child.
The dark locks were rolled back in pompadour fashion over a high
cushion, the plait turned up in a queue, fastened at the nape of the
neck by an enormous outstanding bow; the cheeks were fuller in outline,
and the disproportion between nose and mouth less marked. She was by no
means pretty, yet there was a charm about the quaint little face which
made the onlooker smile involuntarily and feel a sudden outgoing of
affection.

"P-pixie!" gasped Bridgie in a breathless whisper. She rested her cheek
against the muff, and stared before her with rapt grey eyes. "Pixie's
portrait! Oh, Esmeralda--what a lovely thought! You had it taken for
us? You sent to Paris for it?"

"Yes--yes!" cried Esmeralda gleefully.