such
advantages as I could afford, and she is fairly accomplished. I had a
visitor yesterday I little expected, at her very advanced age. Mrs.
Hannah More paid her first call on our new Bishop, and was so obliging
as to come on here. She was speaking of you with interest, my dear."

"Of me!" exclaimed Joyce. "What does she know of me?"

"She knows about most people in the county; and, naturally, your
mother's opposition to Mrs. More's views has reached her. She forbade a
dairy-maid to read, who had once been in Mrs. More's school, and when
she disobeyed her, dismissed her on the spot. It was much to be
regretted. Greatly as I respect your mother, I must confess this act
annoyed me."

"Did Mrs. More mention it yesterday, Aunt Lettice?"

"Yes; and she said she would like to have some communication with you.
She had seen you riding with your father, and was taken by your looks.
She inquired what education you had, and was shocked when I told her
absolutely none. I told her I had implored your father to send you to a
boarding-school at Clifton, but that he was obstinate. For, with all his
good qualities, Joyce, we must concede that your father _is_ obstinate."

"He is determined to do what is right," said Joyce, "if that is
obstinacy."

Miss Falconer smiled.

"I have known him longer than you have, little Joyce," she said. "But
tell me about this proposition of Mrs. More's: is it possible to carry
it out? Mrs. More has such frequent attacks of illness, that it is well
to lose no time. Shall I write to Mrs. More, and propose that you should
spend a week at Barley Wood?"

"Oh! I don't think mother could spare me for a week. Did Mrs. More ask
Charlotte?"

"No, but I may suggest it. Probably she thinks Charlotte is in good
hands; she knows that I have not neglected her education. She has
refined, poetical tastes; she can work beautifully in coloured silks;
she can paint flowers, and she can play on the piano very prettily.
These are the accomplishments which we look for in a young gentlewoman;
and----"

"I have none of them!" Joyce exclaimed; not hopelessly, but almost
defiantly: "but, Aunt Lettice, I am not sure that I want them."

"Dear child, I am sure that you _do_ want them," was the reply, with a
smile. "There is a want of 'finish' about you; the more to be
lamented----"

Miss Falconer's speech was interrupted by the appearance of the neat
maid-servant, who laid the cloth, and set out, with the utmost
pre