“I shall feel awfully lonesome there, by myself. I am beginning to dread it. You won’t think me silly, will you? I used not to mind living alone. But then it was different. You ’ll come and see me very, very often. Bring your writing, and I ’ll be as quiet as a mouse and won’t disturb you. You don’t know how frightened and nervous I am. I suppose it’s because I have been so ill.” “You poor little thing,” said Joyce, looking down upon her, as he stood on the hearthrug, “I wish I knew some motherly soul to take care of you--or that I could take care of you myself,” he added, with a smile. “Oh, I wish you could,” cried Yvonne, piteously, with an appealing glance. “Oh, Stephen--could n’t you? I would n’t give you much trouble.” “Do you mean, Yvonne, that you would like me to get lodgings in the same house as you?” asked Joyce, with a sudden flash in his eyes. “Yes,” said Yvonne. “Just at first. Until I feel stronger. I have been longing to ask you, but I didn’t dare. Don’t think me selfish and horrid.” The notion dawned upon him like an inspiration. Why had he not thought of it before? Why should he not find a garret above her rooms whence he could look protectingly down upon her, in brotherly affection, instead of leaving her ill and alone to the dubious mercy of landladies and lodging-house servants? He was quite bewildered by the charm of her proposal. “But, Yvonne, do you know what undreamed of happiness you are offering me?” he said. “Then you would like it?” she cried gladly. “Why, my dear child!” said Joyce; and he walked about the room to express his feelings. “I have thought it all out,” said Yvonne, sagely. “We can go to much cheaper rooms than you intended me to have, so that you can pay the same for your own lodgings as you pay now. I would n’t lead you into extravagances for anything in the world.” “If it comes to that,” said Joyce, “the second floor is vacant where I lodge now.” “But that is delightful!” cried Yvonne. “The fates have arranged it on purpose for us.” They talked for a while over the new plan. Joyce’s acquiescence, relieving her of much nervous dread of loneliness, raised her spirits wonderfully. “You won’t tyrannise over me too much, will you? If I am going out with tan shoes, you won’t send me indoors to put on black ones? Promise me.” He laughed. The idea of such an attitude towards her seemed to belong more to comic opera than to real life. And yet he felt his authority. She regarded him with the implicit trust of a stray child.