t there is such a thing as the language of eyes.
Joyce, you don't understand."

"No, I don't; and I think, Charlotte, it is nonsense to waste your
thoughts on Mr. Bamfylde, who probably has never given you a thought in
his life."

"I am not so sure about _thoughts_, dear. However, I see you don't care
about it, or my verses, or me."

"Come, Charlotte, don't be silly! Of course I care about you, but I
don't think I am poetical or romantic. Indeed, we ought to go
downstairs."

"You must go first, and I will follow," said poor Charlotte, putting
"The Drooping Rosebud" in her pocket again, with a sigh; and Joyce
tripped downstairs alone.

"Well, my little rustic," Miss Falconer said; "come and sit down by me,
and tell me the news."

"Melville came home last week," Joyce said. "He is determined to travel,
and father did so want him to settle down at home and help him with the
estate. But, oh! Aunt Lettice, nothing will ever make him into a farmer.
He is dressed to-day, to come into Wells, like a fine gentleman. I get
so angry with Melville, Aunt Lettice."

"He will come round in time, my dear. Young men are often a little
difficult to manage, and then sober down so wonderfully."

"But Melville is twenty-three, nearly twenty-four, Aunt Lettice. Father
has given him every advantage, and all he wished for, and now he says he
cannot possibly live a country gentleman's life."

"Oxford was a poor preparation for that life, I must own," said Miss
Falconer; "only it was natural perhaps, that your father should yield
to your mother's wishes."

"Mother suffers the most," said Joyce hotly, "far, far the most. It
makes me so angry when I think of the way mother is treated."

"My dear child, she has spoiled Melville, and this is the result."

"It would not be the result if Melville had an atom of gentleman-like
feeling. Looking down on mother, who----" Joyce's voice faltered.

"It was unfortunate that your father married below him in the social
scale; he was caught in the rebound, as we say. But all that is over and
done with: still, we may deplore it; though no one can respect your dear
mother more than I do. Marriage," said Miss Falconer, slowly and
deliberately, "has not been successful in our family. Charlotte's
mother, our only sister, made a very unwise marriage, and her only child
has been thrown upon me to support. Not that I regret it. Charlotte is
an amiable, gentle girl, and a companion to me. I have given her