"No, of course not. You are right." Miss Kavanagh moves towards the door. "After all, Barbara," looking back at her, "that applies to most things in this sad old world. What matter under heaven can we poor mortals dare to trifle with? Not one, I think. All bear within them the seeds of grief or joy. Sacred seeds, both carrying in their bosoms the germs of eternity. Even when this life is gone from us we still face weal or woe." "Still--we need not make our own woe," says Barbara, who is a sturdy enemy to all pessimistic thoughts. "Wait a moment, Joyce." She hurries after her and lays her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Will you come with me next Wednesday to see Lady Monkton?" "Lady Monkton! Why I thought----" "Yes, I know. I would not take you there before, because she had not expressly asked to see you. But to-day she made a--she sent you a formal message--at all events she said she hoped I would bring you when I came again." "Is that all of it?" asks Joyce, gazing at her sister with a curious smile, that is troubled, but has still some growing sense of amusement in it. "What an involved statement! Surely you have forgotten something. That Mr. Dysart was standing near you, for example, and will probably find that it is absolutely imperative that he should call on Lady Monkton next Wednesday, too. Don't set your heart on that, Barbara. I think, after my interview with him to-day, he will not want to see Lady Monkton next Wednesday." "I know nothing about whether he is to be there or not," says Barbara steadily. "But as Sir George likes to see the children very often, I thought of taking them there on that day. It is Lady Monkton's day. And Dicky Browne, at all events, will be there, and I dare say a good many of your old friends. Do say you will come." "I hate old friends!" says the girl fractiously. "I don't believe I have any. I don't believe anybody has. I----" She pauses as the door is thrown open, and Tommy comes prancing into the room accompanied by his father. CHAPTER XXXVI. "Children know very little; but their capacity of comprehension is great." "I've just been interviewing Tommy on the subject of the pictures," says Mr. Monkton. "So far as I can make out he disapproves of Dore." "Oh! Tommy! and all such beautiful pictures out of the Bible," says his mother. "I did like them," says Tommy. "Only some of them were queer. I wanted to know about them, but nobody would tell me--and----" "Why, Tommy, I explained them all to you," says Joyce, reproachfully. "You did in the first two little rooms and in the big room afterward, where the velvet seats were. They," looking at his father and raising his voice to an indignant note, "wouldn't let me run round on the top of them!" "Good heavens!" says Mr. Monkton. "Can that be true? Truly this country is going to the dogs." "Where do the dogs live?" asks Tommy, "What dogs? Why does the country want to go to them?"