lady had told me all about
her hens, and her servants, and her latest quarrel with her neighbours,
and I'd flattered her by saying her rheumatism was the pick of any in
the county, she'd be ready to eat out of my hand. And I'd fix up to
call for Mollie, and see her safely home after the show was over."

"Mollie? A pretty name! Is it common in Ireland?"

"It is so. We knew a stack of them at Knock, but Mollie Burrell was the
best of the bundle."

Sylvia smiled, but her lips felt stiff, and the effort was not a
success. A little weight of depression settled over her spirits. She
felt anything but sympathetic for the deprivations of Miss Mollie
Burrell.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

BARGAIN-HUNTING.

Two days after Sylvia's return home, Pixie took the tinted photograph
across the road for inspection. She had toiled at it with conscientious
effort, but, alas! the result was pathetically bad, the paint being laid
on in uncertain daubs, while carmine cheeks and scarlet lips laid the
buxom lady under suspicion of sickening for fever or some other deadly
complaint. Pixie herself was vaguely disquieted by the general effect,
but, as she earnestly explained, you "got used to it after a bit, and it
didn't look so bad. And even if it was only half price this time, it
would be encouraging to the family!"

Sylvia refrained from criticism, but helped to pack the work of art
between two sheets of cardboard in readiness for the post, and after
that was done, took her visitor downstairs to be introduced to Miss
Munns.

The old lady was sitting darning stockings, with a newspaper spread over
one half of the table and a little bowl standing ready to receive the
snippings of worsted. On the baize cloth at the other end stood an
indiarubber plant and four little artificial ferns. A gas fire
flickered in the grate, a wire blind shut out the view, the chairs stood
ranged in mathematical order against the walls, the very newspaper was
folded into an accurate square and put away in the rack, and Pixie
looked round with awed eyes the while she was introduced.

"This is Bridgie's youngest sister, Aunt Margaret--Pixie O'Shaughnessy."

"I hope you are quite well, my dear," said Miss Munns.

"Good morning, madame!" said Pixie in her most Parisian manner, not
attempting to shake hands, but bowing with an air of gracious effusion
from half-way across the room.

Aunt Margaret let the stocking drop in her lap and stared over her
spec