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<h3>Chapter Seventeen.</h3> <h4>Jack’s Discovery.</h4> Pixie received the intelligence that she was to begin her new duties on the following Monday with the unruffled composure of one who has expected no other decision. She asked eagerly what salary she was to receive, and was a trifle depressed to find that it did not run to three figures. Thirty pounds sounded very little, though she had only the vaguest notion of its purchasing value, but her ambition had been to supply the whole additional sum which was needed for the support of the household. Innocent Bridgie had no idea as to what might be expected under the circumstances, but Miss Munns, who knew everything, declared that the offer was a handsome one, and ten pounds in excess of the ordinary rate of payment. Still, as she sagely remarked, one could never tell! People sometimes seemed very generous and pleasant-spoken at first, and then turned out everything that was exacting and unreasonable. Several young friends of her own had gone out as governesses, and met with tragic adventures. Marianne Summers, the cousin of Summers’ Celebrated Snowflake Soap, was with a family at Rochester, and nursed a little boy all through scarlatina, and when she had toothache herself the lady said it was most inconvenient because a dinner-party was coming. No consideration whatever, and the food very poor. She was never so much as asked to have a second helping! “Maybe the lady had so many to help that she forgot to ask her. Couldn’t she ask herself? It would have been more friendly than grumbling behind her back,” said Pixie severely. “When I go out to meals with people I make myself at home. I went to déjeuner with some friends in Paris, and I was so much at home that when they had cabbage, I remarked that I wished it had been cauliflower. They smiled, and looked quite pleasant!” Miss Munns looked over her spectacles, and grunted to herself. She considered Pixie O’Shaughnessy a most uncomfortable girl, and was never at ease in her society. She asked embarrassing questions, stared with unconcealed curiosity, while her innocence had a trick of developing into quite remarkable shrewdness at sudden and inappropriate moments. Miss Munns recalled several incidents when the gaze of the childlike eyes had filled her with a most unpleasant embarrassment, and declared that not for fifty thousand pounds would she have that child living in her house! Bridgie was different. She was invariably anxious to hear further anecdotes concerning relations and friends, and was such a docile pupil in domestic matters, that the old lady had the felicity of practically ruling two households instead of one. In the fervour of her resolve to turn over a new leaf, Bridgie had made no reservations, but had placed herself and her accounts in Miss Munns’s hands, and from that moment there was no drawing back. The weekly orders were supervised and cut down, the accounts carefully checked and paid to the hour, the receipts were endorsed and filed, so that they could <ANTIMG src="images/mapix178.jpg" alt=""> be produced at a moment’s notice; extras were faithfully entered into the housekeeping ledger at the end of each day, and the whole account balanced to a laborious penny. When the penny was very difficult to find, Bridgie pleaded hard to be allowed to supply it from her private purse, and could never be quite brought to see that the result would not be the same, but it was a proud moment when Jack surveyed the ledger on Saturday evenings and wrote, “Examined, and found correct!” with a big flourish underneath the final addition. Then he would stroke his moustache and twinkle at her with amused eyes, as he said— “Bravo, Bridgie, right to a fraction! I’ll ask Miss Munns to take me in hand next—since she has scored such a triumph out of you. Evening classes two or three times a week, with Sylvia to sit by me and sharpen my pencils—that would be a happy way of combining instruction and amusement for the winter evenings, wouldn’t it?” and—shades of Esmeralda!—Bridgie smiled, and ejaculated, “You naughty boy!” in a tone as far removed from fault-finding as it is possible to imagine. Sylvia Trevor, however, being a young woman of spirit, was by no means disposed to provide amusement for Master Jack or any other masculine flirt. If any man wished to win her, she was worth wooing seriously, so she told herself with a tilt of the pretty dark head, but when Jack said one thing with his lips, beseeching Miss Munns to take pity on his ignorance, and put him on the path whereon he should walk, and another with his eyes, mutely inviting her to stay and flirt with him the while he pretended to listen—then her pride was roused, and she determined to teach him a wholesome lesson. She waited until Miss Munns had produced half a dozen ledgers to demonstrate the elaborate system of book-keeping by which she conducted her miniature establishment—until Jack had seated himself by her side and was irrevocably victimised for the evening; then she rose from her chair and said amiably— “I mustn’t disturb you. You will like to be quiet, so I’ll run across and chat to Bridgie for an hour, while you are away!” The “running” was a polite fiction, for in spite of massage and the most careful doctoring it would be many months before Sylvia could run again. By walking very deliberately she could just conceal her limp, and now as she turned towards the door she had a good view of Jack’s petrified glare of disgust. The picture of him sitting by the old lady’s side, while she prepared to teach him what he himself knew a dozen times better than herself, was too much for Sylvia’s composure, and around the corner of the door, where her aunt could not see her, she doubled up with silent laughter and cast on him a glance of such mocking triumph, such sparkling, dimpling, deliciously girl-like derision, as was more eloquent than a thousand gibes. Jack leapt to his feet; at that moment he would have given half he possessed to have rushed after the tantalising creature, to have stood over her, and watched her self-confidence give place gradually to embarrassment, and the pink flush rise to the pale cheeks as it had a trick of doing under his scrutiny, but, alas! the door was shut, and Miss Munns’s voice inquired soberly— “Do you want the lamp? Put it on the mat, please. You can’t be too careful of lamps. If the oil gets on the cloth, nothing will take it out!” “’Twill be a lesson to me while I live!” sighed Jack sorrowfully to himself. He was smarting with annoyance and impatience, but he managed, as not one man in a hundred could have done, to keep his irritation to himself, and be absolutely amiable and courteous to his instructress. Miss Munns thought him a most well-disposed young man, and did not discover one of the anxious glances at the clock, nor the yawns so dexterously hidden beneath strokings of the moustache. When three-quarters of an hour had passed by, Jack felt as if the interview had lasted a fortnight, but fate was kinder to him than he deserved, and sent relief in the person of the widow occupant of Number Ten, who arrived to pay an evening call, cribbage-board in hand. Then Mr Jack departed, and paced up and down the road smoking cigarettes, and meditating on revenge. He caught the echo of girlish laughter from within his own threshold, and could easily picture the scene within—the two sisters huddling over the fire, Sylvia seated in state in the grandfather chair, Pat, her devoted admirer, perched on the end of a table, and placidly maintaining his position in spite of repeated injunctions to run away. He pictured Sylvia’s face also as he had often seen it—the sharply-cut little features, the suspicion of pride and self-will in aquiline nose and firmly-moulded chin, the short, roughened hair, which was such a cross to its owner, but which gave her a gallant, boyish air, which one spectator at least found irresistibly piquant. He saw the firelight play upon the pretty pink dress and the rings on the restless hands, saw the brown eyes sparkle with laughter, and grow suddenly soft and wistful. It seemed to him that they were turned towards himself, that her thoughts were meeting his half-way, that she was already repenting, and dreading the result of her hasty flight. Jack O’Shaughnessy stopped short in his pacings up and down, and stood staring before him with a strange, rapt expression. Out there in the prosaic street the greatest discovery of his life had come to him, and the wonder of it took away his breath. Young men often imagine themselves in love with half a dozen pretty faces before they have reached five-and-twenty, but to most of them there comes at last, in the providence of God, the one woman who is as far removed from the passing fancies of an hour as the moon from her attendant stars. She has appeared, and for him thenceforth there is no more doubt or change; his life is, humanly speaking, in her hands, and her influence over him is the greatest of all the talents which has been entrusted to her care. Too often he is careless about religious matters, if not actively antagonistic, and her light words may confirm him in a life of indifference; but, on the other hand, his heart is never so tender and ready to be influenced as at the moment when she has given her life into his charge, and this golden opportunity is hers to seize and turn to lasting good. In the best sense of the word she is his Queen and he is her knight, who will perform noble and gallant deeds at her behest. Jack of the humbugging eyes, handsome, happy-go-lucky Jack O’Shaughnessy, had been what he called “in love” since the days when he wore pinafores and little round collars with frills at the edge, but he had never known what love meant until this winter evening, when at the vision of Sylvia’s face his heart leapt with painful violence, and he stood still appalled by the strength of his own emotions. He had known Sylvia Trevor for one month, four short weeks in all, yet now here she was occupying the foremost position in his thoughts, making the past years seem blank and empty, blocking the gate of the future with her girlish figure. Jack felt dazed and bewildered, a trifle alarmed, too, at the extent of the journey which he had travelled so unthinkingly, but he never attempted to deny its reality. He loved Sylvia—that was an established truth; the only question which remained concerned the next step in the drama. When a man loved a girl, when a girl blushed when he appeared, and, despite all her little airs of superiority, could not hide her pleasure in his society, it was generally easy enough to prophesy a speedy engagement and marriage, but what if Providence had made other ties for the man before the Queen’s appearance? What if, though unmarried, he was still master of a household, a bread-winner to whom brothers and sisters looked for support? Jack’s thoughts drifted longingly towards a little home of his own, where Sylvia reigned as mistress, and cast pretty, saucy glances at him from the other side of the table, but he knew all the time that it was the veriest castle of dreams. He could not keep a wife who was hard pressed to fulfil his present obligations; marriage was out of the question until the boys were self-supporting, and the girls either settled in homes of their own, or comfortably portioned off. That being so, it was plainly the duty of an honourable man to keep out of the girl’s way, to make no attempt to win her affections, but to hide his love both from her and those at home, who would otherwise be made to feel themselves in the way. Jack turned and renewed his pacings up and down. There was a heavy weight of depression on his spirits, but he never flinched from the right path, nor did it occur to him that there was anything heroic in this simple accepting of a hard duty. Family affection was very strong among the O’Shaughnessys, and not even the glamour of first love could make him grudge anything to Bridgie and Pixie, or the two big boys who looked up to him with such touching confidence. His first duty was to them, and it would be “caddish” to let them suspect any sacrifice in its fulfilment. A poor, commonplace word, which it is safe to say would have a nobler translation in the Great White Book, wherein are written the records of men’s lives! Sylvia blushed as she heard the key turn in the latch, and cast an apprehensive glance at the door. Would Jack be angry? How would he look? What would he say? The first glance showed him graver than usual, but with no shadow of offence in look or bearing, and for some unaccountable reason her spirits sank as she met his unclouded smile. He sat down and held out his hand to Pixie, who promptly seated herself on the arm of his chair, and amused herself by trying the effects of various arrangements of the curling brown hair. Parted in the middle, it gave a ridiculously dandified expression to the handsome face; pulled forward in shaggy locks over the forehead, the dandy died a sudden death, and Pat of the cabin and clay pipe appeared in his stead; combed upward by ten little fingers until it stood erect above the forehead, nationality underwent an even more startling change. “Voilà, Adolph!” cried Pixie triumphantly. “Me I have seen a hundred men, but a hundred, all the same as thou every day I promenade me in Paris!” And Jack smiled and, to Bridgie’s surprise, allowed himself to be disfigured without a protest—a surprising thing when a pretty girl was among the spectators. When the hairdressing operations were concluded, he held Pixie’s hand in his own, as if unwilling to let her go, and turned towards Sylvia with a smile. “I think your aunt quite enjoyed giving me a lesson, and I was very much interested in her original system of book-keeping. What a wonderful old dear she is, so energetic and full of interest in her fellow-creatures! I must go to see her again, and have a game of cribbage, which appears to be her pet dissipation. I’m fond of old people, but I daresay they get a little trying if you have no variety. If I relieve guard sometimes, it will set you free to have a chat with the girls!” Was he sarcastic? Was he paying her back in her own coin? Sylvia stared dumbly, but could see no hidden meaning in the glance which met hers so frankly. “Thanks awfully. You are kind!” she cried with enthusiasm, but in her heart she thought the kindness the most cruel treatment she had ever experienced. As soon as she could leave naturally she rose to say good-bye, and then came a fresh blow, for, instead of escorting her across the road as he had insisted on doing hitherto, Jack kept his arm round Pixie’s shoulder, and deputed Pat to take his place. “Now, then, you lazy fellow, get your hat, and see Miss Trevor home!” Pat was delighted, and after all it was natural enough that Jack should not care to turn out in the cold so soon after coming in, and yet—and yet—Sylvia stood at her bedroom window looking at the lights across the road, and as she looked they grew strangely dull and faint. Triumphs are dearly won sometimes, and her mood to-night was the reverse of victorious. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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