"What, have I been missed?" said he, with just the very tiniest bit of sarcasm in his good voice.
"Why, of course," I answered, simply. "You know how fond mother is of you—and father too. Excepting Captain Forrester, I don't think he gets on so well with anybody."
His face fell, and I was sorry.
"He's had more practice with me," he laughed.
"Yes," said I. "But he is so fond of Captain Forrester. He's dreadfully cut up about this accident of his. If it hadn't been for that Mr. Hoad coming in and worrying him this afternoon he was coming up to see you about it. But he gave me this letter and told me to ask you to put the address on."
"Oh, Frank's all right," said the squire, a trifle impatiently. "It's nothing but a sprained wrist and ankle. Only he didn't feel like coming down; perhaps he was half glad to get out of it; I'm sure he ought to have been ashamed ever to have promised to come."
It was rather a fall, after all the sympathy I had tried to win for Frank, and the reproaches I had made to Joyce for her coldness! But Joyce's strange conduct was none the less so because he had only sprained his ankle.
"I'm glad he is no worse hurt," said I; and as it came home to me how very glad I was I added, "Oh, I'm very glad."
"The boy's right enough," repeated the squire, in the same manner.