The result was, as we know, that Miss Falconer gave a melancholy account
of her niece's ignorance, which she believed was entirely due to her
mother's prejudices as to boarding-schools and her father's
over-indulgence and excessive affection for his only daughter.

With her accustomed sympathy with all the young who were just setting
forth on life's journey, Mrs. More determined to see something of Mr.
Falconer's little daughter, and her aunt's letter had decided her to
lose no time in paying a visit to Fair Acres.

As Joyce came up to the steps of the carriage Mrs. More held out her
hand--a white, delicately-formed hand, half covered by a lace mitten.

Joyce had heard Mrs. More spoken of as an old lady of near eighty, and
her surprise was written on her lovely face, as she said, simply:

"Are you Mrs. More?"

For the beautiful dark eyes were still lustrous, and the lips, parted
with a smile, displayed a row of even teeth which many a young woman in
these days might envy. A quantity of white hair was turned back from a
round, full forehead, which was shadowed by a drawn-silk riding-hood,
with a deep curtain and a wide bow under the chin. Intellect and
benevolence shone on the face, which was marked by few lines, and the
still young spirit lighted up the whole countenance as Mrs. More said:

"Yes, I am Mrs. More; and I have come to pay my respects to your good
father and mother, and to make your acquaintance."

"A great hay-making party is in the home meadow," Joyce said. "My mother
bids me present her apology; but my father will be here, I think,
shortly. Will you not alight from the carriage?"

"No, thank you kindly, my dear;" and turning to Miss Frowde: "my friend
thinks me over-bold to drive so great a distance as this; but a desire
to convey to you an invitation in person has brought me hither, in the
delightful cool of the summer afternoon."

"We must be getting home before the dew falls," Miss Frowde said,
addressing Joyce for the first time; "I have to take great care of
precious Mrs. More."

"Miss Frowde is kindly solicitous," the old lady said; "I should be
ungrateful to disobey her orders so if I may ask for a drink of water
for the horses, and a cup of cider for the post-boy, we will not delay
our departure beyond a few minutes."

"I am so sorry," Joyce began, "that all the people are in the hay-field;
but I will send a message for a man who will attend to the horses, if
you will excuse me for a