it's all behind you. And there is
really nothing in it. And you must not think so much about it," says
Barbara, fondling her hand. "Lady Baltimore said you were too unhappy
about it."

"Did she say that? What else did she say?" asks the girl, regarding her
sister with searching, eyes. What had Lady Baltimore told her? That
impulsive admission to the latter last night had been troubling Joyce
ever since, and now to have to lay bare her heart again, to acknowledge
her seeming fickleness, to receive Barbara's congratulation on it, only
to declare that this second lover has, too, been placed by Fate outside
her life, seems too bitter to her. Oh, no--she cannot tell Barbara.

"Why nothing," says Mrs. Monkton, who is now busying herself removing
the girl's hat and furs. "What was there to tell, after all?" She is
plainly determined to treat the matter lightly.

"Oh--there is a good deal," says Joyce, bitterly. "Why don't you tell
me," turning suddenly upon her sister, "that you knew how it would be
all along? That you distrusted that Mr. Beauclerk from the very first,
and that Felix Dysart was always worth a thousand of him?" There is
something that is almost defiant in her manner.

"Because, for one thing, I very seldom call him Felix," says Mrs.
Monkton, with a smile, alluding to the last accusation. "And because,
too, I can't bear the 'I told you so' persons.--You mustn't class me
with them, Joyce, whatever you do."

"I shan't be able to do much more, at all events," says Joyce presently.
"That's one comfort, not only for myself but for my family. I expect I
have excelled myself this time. Well," with a dull little laugh, "it
will have to last, so----"

"Joyce," says her sister, quickly, "tell me one small thing. Mr.
Beauclerk--he----"

"Yes?" stonily, as Barbara goes on a rock.

"You--you are not engaged to him?"

Joyce breaks into an angry laugh.

"That is what you all ask," says she. "There is no variety; none. No,
no, no; I am engaged to nobody. Nobody wants me, and I----'I care for
nobody, not I, for nobody cares for me.' Mark the heavy emphasis on the
'for,' I beg you, Barbara!"

She breaks entirely from her sister's hold and springs to her feet.

"You are tired," says Mrs. Monkton, anxiously, rising too.

"Why don't you say what you really mean?" says Joyce, turning almost
fiercely to her. "Why pretend you think I am fatigued when you honestly
think I am miserable, because Mr. Beauclerk has not asked