"But there is nothing unpleasant; one sees nothing. They are charming to each other. I have been staying there and I know." "Have I not stayed there too? It is impossible Joyce to fight against facts. All the world knows they are not on good terms." "Well, a great many other people aren't perhaps." "When they aren't the tone of the house gets lowered. And I have noticed of late that they have people there, who----" "Who what, Barbara?" "Oh yes, I _know_ they are all right; they are received everywhere, but are they good companions for a girl of your years? It is not a healthy atmosphere for you. They are rich people who think less of a hundred guineas than you do of five. Is it wise, I ask you again to accustom yourself to their ways?" "Nonsense, Barbara!" says her sister, looking at her with a growing surprise. "That is not like you. Why should we despise the rich, why should we seek to emulate them? Surely both you and I have too good blood in our veins to give way to such follies." She leans towards Mrs. Monkton, and with a swift gesture, gentle as firm, turns her face to her own. "Now for the real reason," says she. Unthinkingly she has brought confusion on herself. Barbara, as though stung to cruel candor, gives her the real reason in a sentence. "Tell me this," says she, "which do you like best, Mr. Dysart, or Mr. Beauclerk?" Joyce, taking her arm from round her sister's neck, moves back from her. A deep color has flamed into her cheeks, then died away again. She looks quite calm now. "What a question," says she. "Well," feverishly, "answer it." "Oh, no," says the girl quickly. "Why not? Why not answer it to me, your chief friend? You think the question indelicate, but why should I shrink from asking a question on which, perhaps, the happiness of your life depends? If--if you have set your heart on Mr. Beauclerk----" She stops, checked by something in Miss Kavanagh's face. "Well, what then?" asks the latter coldly. "It will bring you unhappiness. He is Lady Baltimore's brother. She already plans for him. The Beauclerks are poor--he is bound to marry money." "That is a good deal about Mr. Beauclerk, but what about the other possible suitor whom you suppose I am madly in love with?" "Don't talk to me like that, Joyce. Do you think I have anything at heart except your interests? As to Mr. Dysart, if you like _him_, I confess I should be glad of it. He is only a cousin of the Baltimores, and of such moderate means that they would scarcely object to his marrying a penniless girl." "You rate me highly," says Joyce, with a sudden rather sharp little laugh. "I am good enough for the cousin--I am _not_ good enough for the brother, who may reasonably look higher." "Not higher," haughtily. "He can only marry a girl of good birth. _You_ are that, but he, in his position, will look for money, or else his people will look for it for him. Whereas, Mr. Dysart----"