"You spoke to him?" asks she at last, in an emotionless tone. "Yes." "Was Felix with you?" "When?" "When you met that odious man?" "Mr. Beauclerk? No; I dismissed Mr. Dysart as soon as ever I could." "No doubt. And Mr. Beauclerk, did you dismiss him as promptly." "Certainly not. There was no occasion." "No inclination, either. You were kind to him at all events. It is only to the man who is honest and sincere that you are deliberately uncivil." "I hope I was uncivil to neither of them." "There is no use giving yourself that air with me, Joyce. You are angry with me; but why? Only because I am anxious for your happiness. Oh! that hateful man, how I detest him! He has made you unhappy once--he will certainly make you unhappy again." "I don't think so," says Joyce, taking up her hat and furs with the evident intention of leaving the room, and thus putting an end to the discussion. "You will never think so until it is too late. You haven't the strength of mind to throw him over, once and for all, and give your thoughts to one who is really worthy of you. On the contrary, you spend your time comparing him favorably with the good and faithful Felix." "You should put that down. It will do for his tombstone," says Miss Kavanagh, with a rather uncertain little laugh. "At all events, it would not do for Mr. Beauclerk's tombstone--though I wish it would--and that I could put it there at once." "I shall tell Freddy to read the commandments to you," says Joyce, with a dreary attempt at mirth--"you have forgotten your duty to your neighbor." "It is all true, however. You can't deny it, Joyce. You are deliberately--willfully--throwing away the good for the bad. I can't bear to see it. I can't look on in silence and see you thus miserably destroying your life. How can you be so blind, darling?" appealing to her with hands, and voice, and eyes. "Such determined folly would be strange in any one; stranger far in a girl like you, whose sense has always been above suspicion." "Did it ever occur to you," asks Joyce, in a slightly bantering tone, that but ill conceals the nervousness that is consuming her, "that you might be taking a wrong view of the situation? That I was not so blind after all. That I--What was it you said? that I spent my nights and days comparing the merits of Mr. Beauclerk with those of your friend, Felix Dysart--to your friend's discomfiture? Now, suppose that I did thus waste my time, and gave my veto in favor of Mr. Dysart? How would it be then? It might be so, you know, for all that he, or you, or any one could say." "It is not so light a matter that you should trifle with it," says Mrs. Monkton, with a faint suspicion of severity in her soft voice.