at is prosaic, and a good deal
that is sordid in this work-a-day world.

"Please remember me to Doctor Hilary when you see him. Best love, Pia
darling,

"Trix."

Three days later Pia wrote:

"My dear Trix,

"The rainbow vanishes, and the sordidness and the prosaicness become
rather horribly apparent, especially when one finds oneself obliged to
look at them after having steadily ignored their existence.

"Yours affectionately,
"Pia."

To which Trix replied:

"My dear Pia,

"My rainbow shines after every shower, and is brightest against the
darkest clouds. When I look towards the darkest clouds I wait for the
rainbow.

"Yours,
"Trix."

And Pia wrote:

"My dear Trix,

"What happens when there is no longer any sun to form a rainbow?

"Yours affectionately,
"Pia."

And Trix wrote:

"Wait till the clouds roll by, Jenny, wait till the clouds roll by."

And Pia wrote:

"My dear Trix,

"Some people wait a lifetime in vain,

"Yours affectionately,
"Pia."

And Trix wrote:

"Darling Pia,

"You're twenty-eight. Trix."

After which there was a cessation of correspondence for a time, neither
having anything further to say on the subject, or at all events, nothing
further they felt disposed to set down in writing.

Trix spent her mornings, and the afternoons, till tea time, in her Aunt's
company. After that, Mrs. Arbuthnot being engrossed in Bridge till
bedtime, Trix was free to do exactly as she liked. What she liked was
walking till it was time to dress for dinner, and spending the evenings
in the garden.

Even before her father's death, Trix had stayed frequently with her aunt.
Her mother had died when Trix was three years old and Mrs. Arbuthnot, a
widow with no children of her own, would have been quite ready to adopt
Trix. But neither Mr. Devereux, nor, for that matter, Trix herself, were
in the least disposed to fall in with her plans. Trix was merely lent to
h