People were rushing around Joyce as she came out, still escorted by little Lib, proud as a small peacock. Nan was the first to envelop her in a smothering embrace, weeping copiously upon her neck with loud show of affection. Many old friends lingered, waiting just to watch her dear face alight with the relief and triumph of the moment. The minister and his wife were close behind Joyce and eagerly asked her to come home with them. “No,” put in Nan decidedly, “She’s coming to her _own_ home of course. Everything in your room is just as you left it, _darling_--” Joyce couldn’t help smiling at the affectionate appellative. “For pity’s sake get rid of that awful child, and come on,” whispered Nan loudly. “Don’t let her hang on you like that. Let’s get out of this terrible crowd! How curious people are! Come on home!” Poor little Lib dropped Joyce’s arm as if she had been shot, but Joyce quickly caught the little cold hand and drew it back close within her arm, her own warm fingers keeping the little hand clasped tight. “I want her here, Nan. She is my dear little friend,” said Joyce pleasantly. “For mercy’s sake! You always had such queer friends, Joyce,” she laughed disagreeably. “Well, never mind, bring her along, only come on!” But Dan Peterson’s hand was on Joyce’s shoulder. “No, Mrs. Massey, Joyce is coming with us. Father wants to see her right away at home,” and off he carried Joyce and Lib in his own big shiny car, while Nan tried to hide her chagrin by taking to herself reflected glory, and trying to make a little social hay while the sun shone. Joyce went home with the Petersons and was presently sitting in Judge Peterson’s library, learning about her inheritance, and being prepared for the reading of the will which was to come after supper as soon as the Masseys could be summoned to the hearing. But all the time her mind was on the listen, and she was hoping that Darcy would come. Surely, surely he would come and speak to her, just thank her or something. He had been busy with the attorney when she left the court-room, and had flashed her just one gorgeous smile as she looked back at him. Had she been mistaken? Surely there was a promise in that glance, that he would see her again. She wondered why everything seemed to have suddenly gone so flat. She ought to go back of course on the night train and be ready to teach on the morrow, but her heart was not willing to go--not yet--and Judge Peterson presently settled the matter by saying that she would be needed the next day for the technicalities of the settlement of the estate. So she sent a telegram to Harrington: “Will be back to teach Monday morning. Cannot possibly come sooner. (Signed) J. Radway.” CHAPTER XXXI The will was read at last.