The next day Honor Ward made a farewell visit to the Hall, and took lunch with the family in the panelled dining-room, where she had joined in many merry gatherings a few weeks before. Pixie saw the brown eyes flash a quick glance at the place which had been allotted to Robert Carr, but except for that glance there was no sign of anything unusual in either looks or manner. Honor was as neat, as composed, as assured in manner as in her happiest moments, and the flow of her conversation was in no wise moderated. Her hurried departure was explained by a casual "I guessed I'd better," which Mr and Mrs Hilliard accepted as sufficient reason for a girl who had no ties, and more money than she knew how to use. Even Pixie's lynx-eyes failed to descry any sign of heart-break. But when the meal was over and the two girls retired upstairs for a private chat, Honor's jaunty manners fell from her like a cloak, and she crouched in a corner of the sofa, looking suddenly tired and worn. For the moment, however, it was not of her own affairs that she elected to speak. "Pat-ricia," she began suddenly, turning her honey-coloured eyes on her friend's face with a penetrating gaze, "I guess this is about the last real talk you and I are going to get for a good long spell. There's no time for fluttering round the point. What I've got in my mind I'm going to _say_! What in the land made you get engaged to Stanor Vaughan?" "Because he asked me, of course!" replied Pixie readily, and the American girl gave a shrug of impatience. "If another man had asked you, then, it would have been just the same. You would have accepted him for, the same reason!" Pixie's head reared proudly; her eyes sent out a flash. "That's horrid, and you _meant_ it to be! I shan't answer your questions if you're going to be rude." "I'm not rude, Patricia O'Shaughnessy. You're a real sweet girl, and I want you should be as happy as you deserve, which you certainly won't be if you don't take the trouble to understand your own heart. What's all this nonsense about being bound and not bound, and waiting for two years without writing, he on one side of the ocean, and you on another? I can understand an old uncle proposing it--it's just the sort of scheme an old uncle _would_ propose--but it won't work out, Patricia, you take my word for that!" "Thank you, my dear, I prefer to take my own; and he's _not_ old. He has the most beautiful eyes you ever beheld. What do you suppose Stanor would say if he knew you were talking to me like this?"