"But for him, Alec would never have been the noble man he is to-day," she owned to herself; and she was anxious to make prompt amends for anything that had been lacking in her own conduct to Joyce. "Mine has been but a poor, half-hearted friendship," she said to herself. "I fear I thought more of consequences than of doing what my better feelings prompted for that dear orphan girl. I may be mistaken in fancying that Alec cares more for her than for other girls, but if he does, what then? He has enough, and can afford to be indifferent about fortune in a wife." "As his father was before him." Mrs. Caruth almost thought she heard these last words spoken, but they were only the final echo of her own thoughts. Yet they were true words, for she had been a portionless bride five-and-thirty years before, and had known the happiness of being loved only for what she was in herself. So her heart went with the invitation to Joyce, and she told the girl of her son's happy return to Fernsclough, and his wish to meet again his old pet and playmate. When Joyce received the letter she had already promised to remain at the Park, for Mrs. Ross had told how glad they would all be to keep her with them, and to make the season a real bright holiday to her. The prospect of having their darling governess had made the children almost wild with delight. So, when Mrs. Caruth's letter came, Joyce could only send grateful thanks, and tell her what had been already decided upon. The thought that Major Caruth might probably leave England again without her seeing him was the one cloud in what was otherwise all bright and hopeful. He had been so much to her in those old days, when she owed her chief childish pleasures to his kind thought, and was accustomed to appeal to him in every difficulty and trouble. Yet Joyce had other memories of nearer date. She recalled that time when Alec Caruth came to Fernsclough after a long absence, during which she had changed from the merry, romping schoolgirl into the tall, slender maiden of seventeen, and she could picture his look of surprise and admiration, mingled with regret, as he said in his frank fashion— "I was coming to meet my child-friend, and, alas! I have lost her, and find that I have to make acquaintance with a new Joyce Mirlees, who has grown-up to young ladyhood in a most objectionable manner during my absence." She had laughed at his rueful face, and taken his arm to be led in to dinner, instead of dancing into the room holding by his hand, as in former days. She had noticed a little change in Mrs. Caruth's manner from that day—a sort of reserve towards herself and watchfulness over her son, as if she were a little jealous of his attentions to her. And her father had seemed to want her more, and kept her by his side at times, when formerly she had been accustomed to run over to Fernsclough and spend hours together with Mrs. Caruth, always receiving from her a motherly welcome.