There was no sleep for Joy that night. She heard the hours strike one after the other, never missing one. She was not restless. She lay still, and quiet, and calm; patient with that patience which is an acceptance that what is to come is good. In all the long vigil she never faltered in her intention to take that walk in the forenoon. What was to happen in it she did not guess. She had a conviction that that tall figure would follow her discreetly; and that when she was alone they would somehow meet. It might be that she would hear his voice before she saw him; that was most likely, indeed almost certain, for she would not turn till he had spoken … or at any rate till she knew that he was close behind her. … Here her thoughts would stop. She would lie in a sort of ecstasy … whatever might come after that would be happiness. She would see Him … look into His eyes. … “Look at me, Joy!” seemed to sound in her ears in sweet low music like a whisper. Then she would close her eyes and lie motionless, passive, breathing as gently as a child; high-strung, conscious, awake and devoid of any definite intent. When she was dressing for the day she put on one of the simplest and prettiest of her dresses, one which she had directed over night to be got ready; a sort of heavy gauze of dull white which fell in long full folds showing her tall slim figure to its perfect grace. Her maid who was a somewhat silent person, not given to volubility unless encouraged, looked at her admiringly as she said: “I do think miss that is the most becoming of all your frocks!” This pleased her and sent a red glow through her cheeks. Then, fearing if she seemed to think too much of the matter it might seem suspicious as to some purpose, she said quietly: “Perhaps then it would be better if I put on one of the lawn dresses. I am going for a walk this morning and as it may be dusty a frock that will not catch the dust may be better.” “It does seem a pity miss to wear such a pretty frock and spoil it when there is no one here to see it; not even your father.” This gave Joy an opening of which she quickly availed herself. She had not the least intention of changing the frock or of looking, if she could avoid it, one whit below her best. “Fie, Eugenie! one doesn’t put on frocks to attract. If you think that way, I shall wear it; even if it is to get dusty.” The Abigail who was a privileged person answered gravely: “That’s quite true, Miss, exactly as you say it. _One_ doesn’t put on nice frocks to attract; and that one is yourself. But all the rest do!” Joy’s merry laugh showed the measure of her ebullient happiness. “Dear me! Eugenie. You are quite an orthoëpist--indeed a precisionist. I shall have to polish up my grammar. However I’ll keep on the frock if only in compliment to your sense of terminological exactitude!”