"Oh! back of where she is stopping now. They've made the spot quite a little garden plot, and--" "Filmer, see here, tell me all about it!" "Well, by thunder, then, here is the yarn. You see in the first place, you didn't marry Jude and Joyce as tight as an older and more experienced hand would have done. I ain't blaming you, but I've used the thought to help me to be more Christian in my views about what happened. The knot you tied was a slipknot all right." A shadow passed over the sick man's face. "You mean--" he began. "I certainly do. There was a hell of a--excuse me--there was a rumpus of some sort the night the kid was buried. It ended up with a general smash-a-reen of furniture, pictures and such--and I guess Joyce came in for a share of bruises, from what has leaked out since. But the outcome was, she walked up to Gaston's shack that same evening, and what happened there hasn't got into the society news yet; but when Jude and me and Tate went up to straighten out what _I_ thought was a drunken lie of Lauzoon's, there she was all right, wrapped up in Gaston's red blanket, his arm around her, and him asking what we was going to do about it?" "What have you--done?" the even words came slowly. "Nothing. Jude evaporated. I got a bit of a jog about Gaston; I ain't over virtuous, but Gaston was a sort of pattern to me, and I'd got him into my system while we was working on your house. He made me--believe in something clean and big--and I didn't enjoy seeing him spattered with mud of his own kicking up. But Lord! It ain't any of my business." "And the others here? Do they make her and him--feel it?" Filmer laughed. "You forget," he replied; "Gaston's got about all the floating capital there is around here. Where he gets it, is his own affair, and him and Joyce don't ask no favours. The whole thing has settled into shape. You needn't get excited over it. Of course, the women folks have warned your aunt and sister off. I believe they call Joyce the worst woman in the place--when they're whispering--but they don't take any chances of giving offence by speaking out loud." "Poor little girl!" Drew's eyes were misty. He shivered slightly and pulled his fur coat closer about his chin. "How does she look, Filmer?" "As handsome as--well, a queen would give her back teeth to look like Joyce. I never seen the like. Head up, back as straight as a pine sapling, eyes shining and hair like--like mist with sunlight in it. Gaston has taught her to speak like he does. You know he always kept his language up-to-date and stylish? Well, she's caught the trick now. You'd think she'd travelled the way she hugs her g's and d's. She trips over the grammar rules occasionally--but I always said they had to be born in your blood to make you sure, and even then--you have to exercise them daily." "Poor little Joyce! I always felt she was only half awake, as she stood that day before me. If I had it to do now--I would wake her up, before I made the tie fast."