There was no doubt about that. When at last the little sister condescended to step down from her perch, she was passed from one to another in a series of bear-like hugs, from which she emerged flushed and complacent, to step briskly towards Sylvia and kiss her effusively upon the cheek. "How d'ye do, me dear, and how's your illness? I've heard so much about it that I expected to see you worse. You look too pretty to be an invalid!" "Hear, hear!" muttered Jack softly. Sylvia blushed and gripped the little hand which lay so confidingly in her own. "Thank you very much. I am getting better, but I don't feel at all pretty. I'm lame, and have to limp about wherever I go, and my hair is tumbling out. I have the greatest difficulty to make it look respectable. I shall be bald soon!" Pixie craned forward and examined her head with sorrowful candour. "It _is_ thin! Ye can see the scalp shining through like shot silk. You'll look like an old man with a bald head; but never mind! Think of the saving in the morning! It will be so easy to do your hair!" There was a burst of laughter from brothers and sisters, while Sylvia covered her face with her hands and rocked to and fro in mock despair. "You need never be unduly elated by a compliment from Pixie, Miss Trevor," said Geoffrey Hilliard meaningly. "She is the most transparently truthful person I ever encountered, and favoured me with several character sketches of my wife before we were engaged, which might have warned me of my fate if I'd been a sensible fellow. I have remembered them, Pixie, many a time since then, and I'm glad to find your foreign experiences have not affected your candour. There's another thing that is not much altered, so far as I can hear--and that's your brogue, my dear! It sounds to me almost as pronounced as in the old days when you were running wild at Knock." "But it's got a French accent to it now--that's better than English!" cried Pixie eagerly. "I was learning to speak quite elegantly in Surbiton, but Therese wouldn't listen to a word of English out of my mouth, and if you'll believe me, me dears, my very dreams are in French the last few months. There was a _jeune fille_ in Paris who used to promenade with us sometimes for the benefit of hearing me talk English. She said the words didn't sound the same way as when they taught them to her at school. _Helas le miserable_! The brogue of her put shame on me own before I came away."