"Oh, no doubt," stroking the dark hair; "but mother is driving at present. Now, say good-bye to me, Joyce, and you must give me a kiss, too, my boy. Good-evening, nurse." And that was all we saw of Joyce's father that day; only an hour later, when the nursery tea was over, and I was undressing the boy by the bedroom fire, while Joyce stood beside me, removing the garments carefully from a favourite doll, and chattering as fast as a purling brook, I saw Mrs. Morton standing in the doorway, looking at us. Joyce uttered a scream of delight, and threw herself upon her. "Mine mother! mine mother!" she repeated over and over again. Mrs. Morton had the old, tired look on her face as she came forward, rather hurriedly. "I cannot stay; there are people downstairs, and when they have gone I must dress for dinner." She gave a sort of harassed sigh as she spoke. "Could you not rest a little first?" I returned. "You have been out the greater part of the day, and you do not seem fit for the evening's fatigue," for there was quite a drawn look about the lovely mouth. She shook her head, but, nevertheless, yielded when I gave her up my chair and put the boy in her arms; in his little chemise, and with his dimpled shoulders and bare legs, he was perfectly irresistible to his mother, and I was not surprised to see her cover him with kisses. "My bonnie boy, my precious little son," I could hear her whisper, in a sort of ecstasy, as I picked up the little garments from the floor and folded them. I seemed to know by instinct that it was only this that she needed to rest her; the drawn, weary lines seemed to vanish like magic. What a sweet picture it was! But her pleasure, poor soul, was short lived; the next moment she had recollected herself. "There are all those people in the drawing-room! What would my husband say at my neglecting them? Good-night, my darling; be good; and good-night, Merle." She smiled at me in quite a friendly fashion, and hurried away without another look.