"Now, if you'd asked me to say what I do _not_ do, it would have been easier. Have you any sort of idea what it means to keep a home going with big ideas and little means, and a cook-general to thwart your efforts? If you have, you can imagine the list. Dusting, sewing, mending, turning, making, _un_-making, helping Bridgie, amusing the children, soothing the servants, humouring Dick, making dresses, trimming hats, covering cushions, teaching the alphabet, practising songs, arranging flowers, watering plants, going to shops, making up parcels, writing notes, making--" Stanor held up his hands in protest. "Stop! Have pity on me! What an appalling list! Isn't it nearly done? My ears are deafened! I am overcome with the thought of such activity!" Nevertheless the smile with which he regarded her was distinctly approving, for, like most men, he preferred domestic women who did not despise home work. "I'll tell you what it is," he added warmly, "Mrs Victor is like the other fellow--jolly lucky to have you! There are precious few girls who would give up their whole lives to a sister." "Bridgie is more than a sister. She's meant father and mother and home to me for over ten years. My parents died when I was so young." "Like mine. That's a point of union between us. My uncle has played the part of your Bridgie." "He has; I know it. He's lame," answered Pixie swiftly, and was amazed at the heat with which the young fellow replied-- "Lame? Who said so? Who told you? What does it matter if he _is_ lame?" "Not one bit. I was only--sorry. I didn't mean to be unkind or to repeat anything I shouldn't. Why are you vexed?" He shrugged his shoulders, and snapped the scissors over a coil of string. "Oh, nothing. Gets on one's nerves a bit that's all. He's such a fine fellow, he would have been such a brick, but that wretched lameness has spoiled it all. Till he was eighteen he was as strong as a horse--a fine, upstanding young giant he must have been. Then came the accident--pitched from his horse against a stone wall--and for twelve solid years he lay on his back. That made him only thirty, but you would never have believed it to see him. He was a lot more like a man of fifty." Pixie laid her pen on the table, and rested her chin in the clasped hands. Her eyes looked very large and wistful.