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"Do you call him Trixy to his face?" she asked. "What? No but everyone calls him Trixy. What's the matter with you?" "Nothing," she replied. "Only the habit every one has in Quicksands of speaking of people they don't know well by their nicknames seems rather bad taste." "I thought you liked Quicksands," he retorted. "You weren't happy until you got down here."
Sidney Dallam had worn to a polo match had been faithfully described in the public prints, or the dinners which she had given at the Quicksands Club. One of these dinners, Honora learned, had been given in honour of Mr. Trixton Brent. "You ought to know Trixy, Honora," Mrs. Dallam declared; "he'd be crazy about you." Time passed, however, and Mrs.
But her face keeps its pale, grave look. Trixy wonders if she is not a stupid little body after all. Last of all they reach the sacred privacy of Trixy's own room, and there she displays her ball dress. She expiates on its make and its merits, in professional language, and with a volubility that makes Edith's head swim.
I don't see," exclaimed Trixy, growing suddenly aggrieved, "why he couldn't speak out like a hero, and be done with it? He's had encouragement enough, goodness knows!" Something ludicrous in the last words struck Edith she burst out laughing. But somehow the laugh sounded unnatural, and her lips felt stiff and strange. "You're as hoarse as a raven and as pale as a ghost," said Trix.
"Now then, Trixy," he said, not unpleasantly, "you'd best go into the back parlour and listen to your beloved husband playing hymns so trustfully." She went away, still without speaking, and Marion, no longer feeling defensive before a stranger, closed her eyes. Really his fat hands were very gentle, very clever and quick.
"Little imbecile! Trixy, I should like to see those papers." "So you can I have them. Charley got them from Laura Featherbrain. What could not Charley get from Laura Featherbrain I wonder?" adds Trix, sarcastically. Edith's color rose, her eyes fell on the tatting between her fingers. "Your brother and the lady are old lovers then? So I inferred from her conversation last night."
"I will love you all my life," is his answer. This is how two of the water-party were enjoying themselves. A quarter of a mile farther off, another interesting little scene was going on in another boat. Trixy had been rattling on volubly. It was one of Trixy's fixed ideas that to entertain and fascinate anybody her tongue must go like a windmill.
And again Miss Seton was first bridesmaid, and Mrs. Stuart, in lavender silk, sniffed behind a fifty dollar pocket handkerchief, as in duty bound. They departed immediately after the ceremony for Scotland and a Continental tour that very tour which, as you know, Trixy was cheated so cruelly out of three years before. Mr. and Mrs.
For Captain Angus Hammond, as though to prove that all the world, was not base and mercenary, had come nobly to the front, and proposed to Trixy. And Trixy, surprised and grateful, and liking him very much, had hesitated, and smiled, and dimpled, and blushed, and objected, and finally begun to cry, and sobbed out "yes" through her tears.
"Well," she answered stoutly, "I've enough in my bundle for one meal anyhow. After that who knows?" "Will you give me a drink of water, please?" She stooped quickly for her hat, the only vessel she had. "Look in the roll on my saddle," he said. "Murray put some things there." She glanced around uncertainly; then understood. The saddle was on Trixy still.
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