recounting her many
conquests, as her aunt so frequently did.

There is no more honourable and noble life than that of the single woman
who bravely takes up her lot, and works her way to independence, by
industry and the cultivation of the gifts God has given her, for which
the opportunities in these days are so many. But there is--I had almost
said _was_--no life more pitiable, than that of the woman whose youth is
passing, and who, having to accept her position as unmarried, does so
with a bad grace, and pines for what, by her very melancholy views of
life, she puts more and more beyond her reach, and who is perpetually
thinking of her own little pains and troubles, and forgets to be at
leisure from herself, to sympathise with those of others.

"Joyce did not ask _me_ to go and see Mrs. More; though we stayed at
Barley Wood together," Charlotte was saying. "However, I dare say Mrs.
More would not remember me."

"Her memory is getting short now," said Mrs. Falconer; "she reaped a
pretty harvest for her over-indulgence of her servants; teaching them
things that were above their station in life was the beginning of it.
They cheated her through thick and thin, and some gentlemen had to
interfere, and break up the household for her, poor old lady!"

"It must be a change for her to live in Windsor Terrace, after that
lovely place," Charlotte said.

"Not greater than for me to change Fair Acres for Down Cottage; but my
day is over, and it suits me very well, and Piers is happy, while Harry
and Ralph like to come here sometimes, and I like to be near Joyce and
the dear children."

"I think Falcon is rather tiresome and noisy," Charlotte said. "Joyce
does not reprove him as she ought."

Mrs. Falconer was touchy about her grand-children; in her eyes Falcon
was perfect, and the love that had been so unsparingly poured forth on
Melville, was now given to Falcon.

"He's a noble boy," she said, in a tone that implied it was certainly
not Charlotte's business to suggest that he had any imperfections. And
now the knitting-needles were laid aside, for the carriage stopped at
the little iron gate, and Mrs. Falconer went to call Piers, and to
prepare for her drive.

Meantime Joyce had gone down the steep hill to Windsor Terrace, and,
after some hesitation on the part of Miss Frowde, she was allowed to see
Mrs. More.

She was seated in an easy chair, propped up with cushions, enjoying the
view which lay before her.

For a