"_Succes fou_!" commented Pixie jauntily, as she settled herself once more to her work. "Quite a gift, haven't I? Couldn't do pretties to save my life, but I _can_ caricature! Now, please, _do_ be quiet! I must get on..." Half an hour later a loud rapping on the wall announced the awakening of the invalid, who was once more discovered in a fractious mood. "Asleep! Nonsense! For two minutes, perhaps. How d'you suppose _any_ fellow could sleep, with you two shrieking with laughter every two minutes! If you choose to keep your jokes to yourself, all right, it's nothing to me; but it's half-past seven. ... Where's supper?" Even as he spoke another rap sounded on the front door--a brisk, imperative rap which brooked no delay. Pixie darted forward, imagining a surprise visit from the doctor, and found herself confronted by a man in black, standing sentinel over a hamper. "Mr O'Shaughnessy's flat, madam? I have instructions from Mr Glynn--" "All right, Saunders, bring it in, bring it in!" cried Stephen quickly. He met Pixie's eyes, flushed, and stammered-- "It's ... supper!" he said lamely. "I telephoned. It seemed a good plan, and I thought that, Pat.--Do you _mind_?" "_Mind_!" repeated Pixie, laughing. "Faith I do! I mind very much; but it's the right way about; it won't be cold mutton, after all! I'll have to draw another picture." The man carried the hamper into the sitting-room, unpacked it deftly, and laid the contents on the table. Soup, smoking hot from a thermos flask, chicken and salad, a shape of cream, and a fragrant pineapple. Pat's lips ceased to droop, his eyebrows to peak: his dark eyes lit with enjoyment. "Good old Glynn!" he cried. "What a great idea! Now let's begin, and eat right through..." As he took part in the happy meal which followed, Stephen Glynn reflected that generosity in giving went also with generosity in receiving. Pat and his sister would cheerfully give away their last penny to a friend in need. It never occurred to them to show less readiness to accept when it came to their own turn. Never was a surprise more happily planned; never was a surprise more heartily enjoyed. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. HE LOVED HER. For the next week all went well. Pat's improvement, though slow, was so sure that a definite date was named on which he should be allowed to take his first few steps. The doctor grimaced to Pixie as he gave this promise, as if to insinuate that the experiment would not be pleasant, but Pat was prepared--in theory at least--for anything and everything, if thereby he might regain his freedom.