"So now I know. Thank you, Bridgie. _Please_ don't say any more!" "No, darling, no, I won't; only please just one thing--it has puzzled me so much, and I have longed to know. ... There's never been any reserve between us--you have confided in me so openly all your life till just these last years. _Why_ didn't you tell me you were unhappy about Stanor?" "How could I, me dear, when I might be his wife? It wouldn't have been loyal. And it wasn't unhappiness exactly, only--a weight. I was _trying_ to keep on loving him, and hating myself for finding it difficult, but I knew if he came back loving me, and wanting me to help him, the weight would go. But you see, he didn't!" "Pixie, dear, one should not need to _try_. That sort of love ought to feel no strain." "If Stanor had needed me, I should have married him," Pixie said obstinately, "but he didn't, and, me dear, excuse me! It's not the most agreeable subject. ... Let's talk of something else." The next day Stephen Glynn arrived, and put up at an hotel. An agricultural show which was being held in the town made an excuse for his visit; it also made a vantage ground for daily excursions, and gave opportunities of securing _tete-a-tete_ to those anxious to do so. Pixie was conscious that several such opportunities had in Stephen's case been of intent ignored and allowed to pass by, but never once did she doubt the motive which prompted such neglect. From the moment of their meeting the consciousness of his love had enveloped her. He might set a seal on his lips, but he could not control his eyes, and the wistfulness of that glance made Pixie brave. Almost the first opportunity for undisturbed conversation came on the afternoon of the third day, when Stephen paid an unexpected call at the house to propose an expedition for the evening, and found Pixie alone. She was sitting writing in the pretty, flower-decked room, where the French window opened wide to the garden beyond. It was only a mite of a garden, not big enough for even a tennis-court, but so much love and ingenuity had been lavished on its arrangement that it had an astonishing air of space. The flower-covered trellis at the end had an air of being there because it chose, and not in the least because it marked an arbitrary division of land. The one big tree made an oasis of shade, and had a low circular seat round its trunk, and the flowers bloomed in grateful recognition of favours bestowed.