e squire. "My dear Letitia, single
women always think they know a great deal about the affairs of married
people, and, as experience is wanting, they commonly know nothing."

"I have long since given up arguing the point with you, Arthur; however,
let us say no more. I only hope that Melville may return a changed
character, and then you will not regret this outlay for him. I only wish
Joyce had some of the money spent on _her_."

"Joyce!" the squire exclaimed--a smile breaking over his fine face;
"Joyce! all the money in the world could not improve her. She is my joy
and comfort. I half grudge letting her go to Barley Wood, even for a
short visit."

"You ought to be glad that she has had such an invitation; and, really,
you have to thank me for it, Arthur. I take such a deep interest in
Joyce. I have often tried to put before you what she needs, and now I
have great hope that Mrs. More may suggest some plan for her."

The squire began to feel very impatient; his sister's interest in his
children was undoubted, but he did not want to have it perpetually
brought before him. Miss Falconer had an unfortunate habit of sounding
her own excellencies, especially with regard to her nieces and nephews.
Then there were often little side hits at his wife; and it is always
hard for a man like the squire, to be reminded that his sisters do not
consider his wife their equal in the social scale, and the nearer the
truth the less palatable is the assertion of it.

"Is not Charlotte ready?" he exclaimed. "Joyce will be waiting at
Draycot, where we are to pick her up. Thomas was to drive her there with
her box, as he had an errand at Farmer Scott's."

"In what did Joyce drive?"

"In the gig; and Joyce likes to pay Mrs. Scott, who is a sad cripple, a
visit sometimes, so it all fitted in very well. Come Charlotte, my
dear," he said, turning to his niece. "We shall find the four-wheel at
the 'Swan,' and I've the ostler at the Close gate waiting to take your
luggage. Two boxes! Joyce only took one."

"Charlotte was obliged to have a bonnet-box," her aunt said. "Her
Tuscan bonnet would have been ruined with the dust if she had worn it."

The squire was already in the little lobby, and, cutting short
good-byes, he strode down the Close, while Charlotte ran back twice, to
kiss her aunt and say in a tearful voice:

"I cannot endure to leave you, sweet auntie."

"Good-bye, my treasure, good-bye," Miss Falconer repeated again and
again