," says Mrs. Connolly, anxiously. "An' the fact
o' you goin' out dhrivin' wid Mr. Beauclerk, an' stayin' out the night
wid him, might give rise to the talk I'm fightin' agin. Don't be angry
wid me now, Miss Joyce, an' don't fret, but 'tis as well to prepare ye."

Joyce's heart, as she listens, seems to die within her. A kind of sick
feeling renders her speechless; she had never thought of that--of--of
the idea of impropriety being suggested as part of this most unlucky
escapade. Mrs. Connolly, noting the girl's white face, feels as though
she ought to have cut her tongue out, rather than have spoken, yet she
had done all for the best.

"Miss Joyce, don't think about it," says she, hurriedly. "I'm sorry I
said a word, but--An', afther all, I am right, me dear. 'Tis betther for
ye when evil tongues are waggin' to have a raal friend like me to yer
back to say the needful word. Ye'll sleep wid me to-night, an' I'll take
ye back to her ladyship in the morning, an' never leave ye till I see ye
in safe hands once more. If ye liked him," pointing to the door through
which Beauclerk had gone, "I'd say nothing, for thin all would come
right enough. But as it is, I'll take it on meself to be the nurse to ye
now that I was when ye were a little creature creeping along the floor."

Joyce smiles at her, but rather faintly. A sense of terror is oppressing
her. Lady Baltimore, what will she think? And Freddy and Barbara! They
will all be angry with her! Oh! more than angry--they will think she has
done something that other girls would not have done. How is she to face
them again? The entire party at the Court seems to spread itself before
her. Lady Swansdown and Lord Baltimore, they will laugh about it; and
the others will laugh and whisper, and----

Felix--Felix Dysart. What will he think? What is he thinking now? To
follow out this thought is intolerable to her; she rises abruptly.

"What o'clock is it, Mrs. Connolly?" says she in a hard, strained voice.
"I am tired, I should like to go to bed now."

"Just eight, Miss. An' if you are tired there's nothing like the bed. Ye
will like to say good-night to Mr. Beauclerk?"

"Oh, no, no!" with frowning sharpness. Then recovering herself. "I need
not disturb him. You will tell him that I was chilled--tired."

"I'll tell him all that he ought to know," says Mrs. Connolly. "Come,
Miss Joyce, everything, is ready for ye. An' a lie down and a good sleep
will be the makin' of ye before mo