"What a delicious day!" says Joyce, stopping short on the hill to take a
look round her. It is the next day, and indeed far into it. Luncheon is
a thing of the past, and both she and Dysart know that it will take them
all their time to reach St. Bridget's Hill and be back again for
afternoon tea. They had started on their expedition in defiance of many
bribes held out to them. For one thing, there was to be a reception at
the Court at five; many of those who had danced through last night
having been asked to come over late in the afternoon of to-day to talk
over the dance itself and the little etceteras belonging to it.

The young members of the Monkton family had been specially invited, too,
as a sort of make up to Bertie, the little son of the house, who had
been somewhat aggrieved at being sent to bed without his share of the
festivities on hand. He had retired to his little cot, indeed, with his
arms stuffed full of crackers, but how could crackers and cakes and
sweets console any one for the loss of being out at an ungodly hour and
seeing a real live dance! The one thing that finally helped him to
endure his hard lot was a promise on his mother's part that Tommy and
Mabel Monkton should come down next day and revel with him among the
glorious ruins of the supper table. The little Monktons had not come,
however, when Joyce left for her walk.

"Going out?" Lady Swansdown had said to her, meeting her in the hall,
fully equipped for her excursion. "But why, my dear girl? We expect
those amusing Burkes in an hour or so, and the Delaneys, and----"

"Yes, why go?" repeats Beauclerk, who has just come up. His manner is
friendly in the extreme, yet a very careful observer might notice a
strain about it, a determination to be friendly that rather spoils the
effect. Her manner toward him last night after his interview with Miss
Maliphant in the garden and her growing coldness ever since, has
somewhat disconcerted, him mentally. Could she have heard, or seen, or
been told of anything? There might, of course, have been a little
_contretemps_ of some sort. People, as a rule, are so beastly
treacherous! "You will make us wretched if you desert us," says he with
_empressement_. As he speaks he goes up to her and lets his eyes as well
as his lips implore her. Miss Maliphant had left by the early train, so
that he is quite unattached, and able to employ his whole battery of
fascinations on the subjugation of this refractory perso