the house, near the servants' quarters.

"The house will be full next week for the Bible meeting at Wrington, so
we thought you would not object to these rooms. I hope you will be
comfortable."

The rooms opened out of each other, and were very plain in their
furniture. Joyce, accustomed to her mother's scrupulous care about every
little detail, noticed that the counterpane on her bed was a good deal
rumpled, and there were rims of dust on the bosses of the old-fashioned
round mirror. Evidently the servants at Barley Wood had not taken much
trouble about the guests.

Indeed, the shameful neglect of Mrs. More's servants, and their bad
conduct, had even then been canvassed by outsiders, though the old lady
herself was perfectly unconscious of it.

The ingratitude of her servants, whom she had spoiled with such
excessive indulgence, was a dark cloud over Hannah More's last days, and
sent her forth at last, with all the weight of her years upon her, to
seek a new home, and turn her back on Barley Wood for ever.

The girls made a quick toilette and then went down, linked arm in arm,
to the dining room, where Miss Frowde awaited them.

The beautiful valley in which Wrington lies, stretched out before the
windows, and the range of hills which enclosed it were shining in the
full light of the July afternoon.

Miss Frowde was not very conversational; she asked a few common-place
questions, to which Joyce exerted herself to reply, but Charlotte took
refuge in silence; she was far too much occupied with considering what
impression she was making, to talk easily and naturally, as her cousin
did.

"I dare say you would like a turn in the grounds, after dinner," Miss
Frowde said, "and I will inquire when dear Mrs. More would like to see
you. It will only be one at a time; she is husbanding her strength for
the Bible meeting, when seventeen or eighteen friends will dine here."

Presently one of the maid servants came into the room.

"Mrs. More wishes to see Miss _Fork_ner, and I was to say that the other
might go into the village with you, Miss Frowde, if she pleased."

"You had better go immediately," Miss Frowde said to Joyce. "Dear Mrs.
More does not like to be kept waiting."

Joyce rose at once and followed the maid to a small sitting room, where
Mrs. More was seated in a deep armchair.

A large table was near her, covered with books and papers, and a small
fire burned upon the hearth.

Joyce felt as if she were g